IRLF 


5B 


MARTYR 

A  DRAM 


JEAN  LEEMAN 


GIFT  OF 


MARTYR  •  A  TRAGEDY  OF 
BELGIUM  •  "DRAMA  in  FIVE 
ACTS  BY  JEAN  LEEMAN  • 

<PR£FAC£  BY  M.  HENRY  LA  FONTAINE 
SENATOR  OF  BELGIUM  •  TeI(ANSJ&lTeeD 
FROM  THE  FRENCH  BY  MRS.  ALICE 
CHITTENDEN 


PUBLISH  ED  BY  THEBELGI  AN  WOMEN'S 
WAR  RELIEF  COMMITTEE  •  1771  SUT- 
TER  STREET  •  SAN  FRANCISCO  •  MCMXVI 


COPYRIGHTED,  1915 
BY  JEAN  LEEMAN 


PATRONS 

M.  AND  MME.  L.  ANCION 
MELLE  EVA  ANCION 
M.  P.  A.  BERGEROT 
MRS.  F.  BEATTY 
M.  A.  BOUSQUET 
MRS.  D.  T.  CAMPBELL 
MRS.  J.  B.  CASSERLY 
Miss  M.  CASSERLY 
M.  J.  S.  BRUN 

M.    H.    COLOMBAT 

M.  D.  G.  DAVIS 
M.  FR.  DE  CONINCK 
MME.  Z.  DE  NIVERNAIS 
M.  AND  MME.  J.  DE  VILLERS 
CTE.  CH.  DU  PARC 


3G0647 


PATRONS-Continued 

M.  J.  M.  DUPAS 

MME.  CHARLOTTE  DUPUIS 

M.  ARM.  DUPUIS 

Miss  M.  EYRE 

M.  E.  FRANCKEARTS 

MME.  LILIAN  FRICOT 

M.  JEAN  GALLOIS 

M.  AND  MME.  J.  GODEAU 

M.  AND  MME.  P.  LASSERRE 

DR.  ALF.  LAMOTHE 

M.  AND  MME.  A.  LOCHER 

M.  AND  MME.  ART.  LEGALLET 

MESSRS.  LECHTEN  BROS. 

M.  P.  MAGENDIE 

M.  ALF.  MESTRE 


PATRONS-Continued 

MRS.  E.  T.  NIBBLING 
M.  AND  MME.  J.  PALACIN 
M.  AND  MME.  M.  PAPIN 
M.  AND  MME.  E.  PIRARD 

M.    G.    POUCHAN 

M.  A.  PRADELS 
MRS.  M.  QUINN 
M.  L.  L.  KEY 

PROF.  DAVID  STARR  JORDAN 

MME.  FINA  SOYEZ 

MME.  J.  TIEULIE 

MME.  MARIE  TROUILLET 

PROF.  AND  MME.  ALB.  VAN  DER  NAILLEN,  SR, 

M.  AND  MME.  J.  B.  VIGNAU 

M.  R.  WEILL 

MRS.  W.  WILSON 


MR.  RAPHAEL  WEILL 

Chevalier  de  la  Legion  d'Honneur 

And  to 

MR.  ALB.  VAN  DER  NAILLEN,  SR. 

Author,  Chevalier  de  1'Ordre  de  Leopold 

Gentlemen; 

I  deem  it  an  honor  to  dedicate  my  play  to  you; 
kindly  accept  this  as  a  token  of  appreciation  and 

respect. 

*  *  *  * 

When,  after  his  daily  journey  through  heaven,  at 
the  close  of  a  summer  day,  the  radiant  wanderer  in 
a  luminous  apotheosis  sets  in  the  glittering  west,  the 
ravished  human  soul  contemplates  this  eternal 
masterpiece  of  the  Creator  with  a  feeling  of  admi- 
ration blended  with  sorrow  and  regret  .  .  . 
It  is  the  end  of  a  beautiful  day. 

So  do  we  admire  with  the  same  sentiment  the  career 
of  the  upright  man  and  the  philanthropist. 

JEAN  LEEMAN 

San  Francisco,  California 

July  14,  1915 


PREFACE 

War,  monstrous  war,  abhorred  by  the  mothers,  is 
once  more  passing  over  the  stricken  world,  which  is 
powerless  to  prevent  or  abolish  the  scourge.  By  a 
thousand  avenues,  however,  men  and  women  are  coming 
forward  to  drive  out  forever  this  monster  which  for 
centuries  has  fed  on  human  blood.  Some  are  already 
planning  the  future  civilization,  others  are  showing  up 
the  horrors  by  pencil  and  brush,  by  words  and  pen, 
They  stigmatize  it  and  vow  it  to  the  gemonies.  To 
these  latter  the  theatre  is  an  ideal  forum.  Before  the 
crowds,  worshipers  of  might,  all  those  slain  upon  the 
altar  of  the  idol  should  arise  from  their  graves  and  cry 
out  their  miseries  and  terrors. 

Among  the  horrors  which  the  German  invasion  has 
brought  upon  the  tortured  populations,  that  which  has 
subjected  the  women  and  girls  to  the  lust  of  the  drunken 
soldiery  is  doubtless  the  most  abominable,  for  it  has 
condemned  these  innocent  victims  to  the  most  horrible 
moral  sufferings. 

The  drama,  written  by  M.  Jean  Leeman,  in  a 
simple  and  sustained  action,  shows  us  through  the 
anguish  of  one  of  these  poor  maidens.  The  author 
most  happily  has  avoided  the  declamatory  phrases  so 
frequent  in  similar  works.  He  makes  his  personages 
speak  their  own  every-day  language,  leaving  the  drama 
a  gripping  reality. 

Every  character  is  painted  with  vigor  and  the  rapid 
action  brings  out  all  the  pathetic  plot  in  a  powerful 
manner.  This  will  be  of  great  value  at  the  time  of  the 
staging,  for  it  will  leave  a  deep  and  lasting  impression 

[IX] 


PREFACE 

upon  the  public.     Gradually  intensified,  the  incidents 
follow  each  other  to  the  very  end. 

tfhe  skillful  manner  in  which  the  culprit  is  discov- 
ered, unmasked,  exposed,  and  finally  compelled  to 
confess  his  crime;  his  tragic  suicide  when  confronted 
with  eternal  dishonor,  maturing  in  a  thrilling  climax, 
assures  to  the  play  a  logical  conclusion. 

Among  the  numerous  existing  and  future  theatrical 
works  which  will  be  produced  on  the  stage  during  and 
after  this  horrible  and  most  criminal  war,  M.  Leeman's 
drama  will  surely  survive  for  its  co-ordination  and  the 
intense  sentiment  of  life  with  which  it  is  conceived  and 
animated.  It  will  remain  one  of  the  most  incisive 
pages  of  the  indictment  that  finally  will  tear  mankind 
from  the  eternal  nightmare  of  murder  and  violence. 

H.  LA  FONTAINE, 

Senator  of  Belgium. 


PREFACE 

La  guerre,  la  guerre  monstrueuse  detestee  par  les 
meres,  unefois  de  plus  passe  sur  le  monde,  epouvante 
de  son  impuissance  a  la  prevenir  et  a  Vabolir.  Par 
mille  avenues  pourtant  on  sent  venir  des  hommes  et  des 
femmes  decides  a  livrer  le  combat  formidable  et  geant 
qui  doit  pour  toujours  la  chasser  de  cette  terre  nourrie 
de  sang  humain  depuis  des  siecles.  Les  uns  dressent 
les  plans  de  la  cite  prochaine,  les  autres  formulent  le 
requisitoire  terrifiant  des  mefaits  de  la  guerre.  Par  le 
pinceau  et  le  crayon,  par  la  parole  et  la  plume.  Us  la 
stigmatisent  et  la  vouent  aux  gemonies.  Et  le  theatre 
s'offre  a  ces  derniers  comme  une  tribune  ideale.  II 
faut  que  devant  les  foules,  adoratrices  de  la  force,  Us 
sortent  de  leurs  tombes  et  crient  leurs  miseres  et  leurs 
transes  tous  ceux  qui  ont  ete  immoles  sur  Vautel  de 
Vidole. 

Parmi  toutes  les  horreurs,  que  V  invasion  germanique 
a  deversees,  sur  les  populations  torturees,  celle,  qui  a 
livre  au  sadisme  djune  soldatesque  effrenee  les  femmes 
et  les  filles,  est  certainement  Vune  des  plus  abominable s, 
car  elle  a  condamne  des  victimes  sans  defense  aux  plus 
atroces  souffrances  morales. 

Le  drame  conqu  par  M.  Jean  Leeman,  en  une 
action  simple  et  soutenue,  nous  fait  vivre  les  angoisses 
de  lyune  de  ces  malheureuses  victimes.  L auteur  a 
echappe  au  ton  declamatoire  si  frequent,  belas,  dans 
des  oeuvres  similaires.  II  a  fait  parler  a  ses  person- 
nages  leur  langage  naturel  et  journalier,  sans  tomber 
dans  la  brutalite  ou  la  grossierete  et  son  drame  nean- 
moins  reste  d'un  realisme  poignant. 

[XI] 


PREFACE 


Cbacun  des  personnages  est  esquisse  avec  vigueur 
et  la  rapidite  de  certaines  episodes  en  fait  valoir  toute 
I'dprete.  C'est  un  merite  qui,  lors  de  la  mise  en  scene 
de  I'oeuvre,  lui  assurera  une  action  certaine  et  forte 
sur  le  public.  Les  incidents  se  suivent  en  une  grada- 
tion constante  et  V internet  se  maintient  jusquyau  bout 
sans  flechir. 

La  maniere  habile  dont  le  coupable  est  decouvert, 
demasque  et  accule  a  I'aveu  de  son  crime  et  le  denoue- 
ment tragique  qui  r oblige  a  se  f rapper  lui-meme  pour 
echapper  au  pire  des  deshonneurs  assurent  au  drame 
une  conclusion  logique  et  pathetique  a  la  fois. 

Parmi  les  multiples  oeuvres  theatrales,  qui  ont  vu 
et  qui  verront  le  jour  pendant  et  apres  la  plus  af  reuse 
et  la  plus  criminelle  des  guerresy  le  drame  de  M.  Jean 
Leeman  sera  certainement  Tun  de  ceux  qui  meriteront 
de  survivre  pour  sa  tenue  et  le  sentiment  tres  intense 
de  vie  qui  Vanime  tout  entier.  II  demeurera  comme 
Vune  des  pages  les  plus  incisives  de  Vacte  d* accusation 
qui  doit  arracher  enfin  Vhumanite  a  son  cauchemar 
seculaire  de  meurtre  et  de  violence. 

H.  LA  FONTAINE, 

Senateur  de  Belgique. 


XII 


MARTYR 

Act  I. 


MARTYR 

The  Cast 

JEAN  BRUNEELS A  young  farmer 

HEINRICH  VON  RAUCH,  Captain  in  the  German  Army 

JOSEF  SCHMIDT      Von  Ranch's  orderly 

BERNARD  VALKIERS Fiance  of  Louise 

JACQUES  VALKIERS Brother  of  Bernard 

' 


M.  LE  BRUN The  judge 

ROULANDS       An  innkeeper 

LOUISE  BRUNEELS Jean's  sister 

MARTHA      Louise's  rival 

MME.  BRUNEELS,  The  grandmother  of  Jean  and  Louise 

A  FOUR-YEAR-OLD  CHILD 

A  LAWYER 

A  PRIEST 

A  SHERIFF 

A  SECRETARY 

MALE  AND  FEMALE  VILLAGERS 


[31 


MARTYR 

The  play  is  laid  in  Belgium,  in  a  village  near 
Louvain,  at  the  beginning  of  the  German  invasion 

of  1914- 

JEAN  BRUNEELS,  a  young  farmer,  and  his  sister 
LOUISE,  well-educated  young  people,  such  as  are  often 
found  in  the  Belgian  villages,  are  working  a  farm 
together;  their  old  grandmother,  a  paralytic,  lives  with 
them.  At  the  first  call  to  arms,  JEAN  rejoins  his 
regiment,  leaving  his  grandmother  to  the  care  of  LOUISE. 
1%e  servants  take  flight  upon  the  approach  of  the 
enemy;  the  two  women  are  left  alone  on  the  farm.  'The 
military  authorities  having  levied  upon  all  the  horses, 
LOUISE  and  her  grandmother  are  unable  to  escape. 

BERNARD  VALKIERS,  LOUISE'S  fiance,  and  his 
brother  JACQUES,  sons  of  a  farmer  of  the  same  village, 
have  also  rejoined  their  regiment. 

In  the  first  Act  the  stage  represents  a  road;  the 
house  of  the  B  RUN  EELS  is  at  the  right  of  the  road;  the 
door  of  the  house  is  facing  the  audience;  the  windows 
look  out  upon  the  stage,  and  under  them  is  placed  a 
bench  along  the  house.  At  the  left  of  the  stage  are 
woods  and  fields.  In  the  distance  at  the  rear  is  seen 
the  city  of  Louvain. 

At  the  rising  of  the  curtain,  JEAN  is  talking 
with  LOUISE  and  his  GRANDMOTHER;  the 
latter  is  sitting  on  a  chair  placed  near  the 
the  door.  JEAN  is  in  military  dress,  and 
carries  his  gun  slung  across  his  shoulder  \ 


MARTYR 


ACT    I. 


Scene  1. 

LOUISE.     But  how  were  you  able  to  get  here? 

JEAN.  For  two  days  our  regiment  has  been  en- 
camped in  the  woods  on  the  road  from  Louvain 
to  Malines,  three  leagues  from  here;  Bernard, 
Jacques  and  I  asked  the  officer  in  command  for 
leave  of  absence  for  a  few  hours;  he  allowed  us  to 
go  at  our  own  risk;  I  was  so  eager  to  see  you  once 
again. 

LOUISE.     And  where  are  Bernard  and  Jacques? 

JEAN.  I  have  just  left  them  on  the  road;  they  are 
going  to  see  their  folks. 

LOUISE.  They  are  going  to  see  their  parents!  Oh, 
the  poor  boys! 

JEAN.    Well,  what's  the  matter? 


MARTYR 

LOUISE.  What  is  the  matter!  .  .  .  Their  farm  is 
destroyed;  the  Germans  have  sacked  the  village 
and  killed  many  people;  father  Valkiers  was 
assassinated,  as  well  as  his  wife,  the  two  daughters 
and  the  youngest  son.  Happily  for  us,  we  are 
here  a  little  distance  from  the  road  or  you  would 
not  have  found  us  alive. 

JEAN.  [  Thoughtfully.]  The  parents  dead.  .  .  . 
The  farm  destroyed. 

LOUISE.     Yes;  there  is  not  much  left  of  the  farm. 

JEAN.  My  God!  my  God!  My  poor  friends  must 
be  mad  with  grief  and  rage.  What  a  calamity! 
[  Grasping  his  gun.}  Let  the  Prussians  beware; 
they  shall  pay  for  all  that. 

LOUISE.  Now,  Jean,  grandmother  and  I  are  afraid 
to  stay  here. 

JEAN.  Of  course,  I  understand  that;  it  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  that  I  get  you  away;  but  how  is 
it  to  be  done,  that's  the  question. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  My  dear  boy,  that  will  be 
very  difficult.  You  will  not  find  a  horse  or  car- 
riage for  ten  leagues  round. 

LOUISE.  That's  true;  what  the  military  authorities 
have  not  taken,  the  Germans  have. 

JEAN.  Quite  a  problem,  indeed;  well,  this  is  what 
I  will  do;  I  will  try  to  reach  Louvain  this  evening, 
and  if  I  cannot  return  myself,  I  will  send  someone 
to  take  you  across  the  frontier;  the  roads  to  the 
north  are  still  open. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.    Try  to  do  that,  my  son,  for 

[81 


MARTYR 

we  are  not  at  all  safe  here;  the  Germans  may 

return  at  any  moment. 
LOUISE.     Yes,  we  have  escaped  once,  but  if  they 

come  back,  it  will  surely  be  our  turn. 

[  Enter  BERNARD  and  JACQUES.     The  brothers 
come  on  the  stage  with  their  guns  on  their 
shoulders;  BERNARD  is  very  sad,  JACQUES 
is  sobbing.     LOUISE  goes  to  meet  BERNARD 
and  takes  his  hand.} 
LOUISE.     My  poor  friend. 
BERNARD.     The  bandits   .    .    .the  murderers   .    .    . 

they  have  killed  our  poor  mother,  our  father,  our 

sisters;  they  did  not  even  spare  our  little  brother, 

a  child  twelve  years  old;  they  killed  him  with  the 

bayonet. 
LOUISE.     I    know    all.     After    the    Prussians    had 

passed,  I  was  anxious  to  see  your  mother;  when 

I  reached  the  farm  only  the  barn  was  standing; 

the  dead  bodies  were  there;  I  shall  never  forget 

the  sight. 
BERNARD.     Ah  ...  it    only   remains    for   us    to 

avenge   them,   and   with   that   I   charge   myself. 

[  He  brandishes  his  gun.]     Wherever  I  find  one  of 

these  vermin  on  my  path,  I  will  crush  him  without 

pity.     We  have  nothing  left;  henceforth  my  life 

is  consecrated  to  vengeance. 
LOUISE.     Bernard,  have  faith  in  God;  better  days 

will  come. 
BERNARD.     [  Putting  his  hand  on  LOUISE'S  shoulder.} 

Yes,  Louise,  I  know  you  are  good  and  brave,  but 

[91 


MARTYR 

I  cannot  think  of  God  now;  vengeance  first! 
vengeance!  nothing  but  vengeance! 

LOUISE.  Bernard,  all  these  innocent  victims  will 
be  avenged.  God  will  avenge  them. 

BERNARD.  Perhaps;  but  I  am  going  to  do  my  part. 
Come,  Jacques,  nothing  will  be  gained  by  sorrow- 
ing; let  us  rejoin  our  regiment. 

JACQUES.  Poor  mother  .  .  .  she,  so  good.  I  will 
never  see  her  again! 

BERNARD.    Well,  Jean,  are  you  coming? 

JEAN.  I  will  go  with  you  a  little  distance.  I  am 
going  to  try  to  find  a  horse  and  carriage  to  take 
grandmother  and  Louise  to  Holland.  Then  I  will 
rejoin  the  regiment.  I  have  a  sacred  duty  to 
perform;  they  first,  after  that  the  regiment. 

BERNARD.  You  are  right;  but  how  are  you  going 
to  do  it? 

JEAN.  My  faith,  I  don't  know.  Perhaps,  crossing 
the  fields  I  may  find  a  farm  that  has  been  spared, 
where  I  can  get  a  horse. 

BERNARD.  As  you  will,  my  friend,  though  there  is 
little  chance  of  success.  Well,  good-bye,  Madame 
Bruneels.  [  He  shakes  bands  with  the  GRAND- 
MOTHER.] Good-bye,  Louise. 

LOUISE.  [  Going  to  BERNARD.]  Farewell,  Bernard. 
Have  courage,  and  may  God  keep  you. 

BERNARD.  Good-bye,  my  dear,  good-bye.  [  He 
embraces  LOUISE.] 

JACQUES.  [  In  a  low  voice.]  Good-bye,  Madame 
Bruneels.  Good-bye,  Louise. 

[10] 


MARTYR 

JEAN.  [  Embracing  bis  grandmother  and  his  sister.} 
I  will  try  to  return  immediately,  but  if  I  do  not, 
then  may  God  keep  you.  Farewell,  farewell! 

[  The  three  men  leave  the  stage.  LOUISE, 
accompanying  them  to  the  rear,  embraces 
BERNARD  again,  and  returns  to  her  grand- 
mother.} 

LOUISE.  Poor  Bernard,  poor  brother;  will  they 
ever  return  ? 

[  A  red  light  is  thrown  upon  the  scenery  at 
the  back.] 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  Look,  Louise!  What  is  that 
great  column  of  smoke  and  fire  in  the  distance? 

LOUISE.  Good  heavens!  The  Germans  have  set 
fire  to  the  four  corners  of  Louvain ! 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  Oh!  my  poor  Louvain!  Oh! 
the  poor  people!  What  will  become  of  them! 
But  why  do  the  Germans  commit  all  these  cruel- 
ties? They  have  nothing  to  gain  in  thus  utterly 
destroying  the  country. 

LOUISE.  Grandmother,  it  is  not  very  hard  to  find 
the  reason.  The  resistance  of  the  Belgians  has 
exasperated  the  Prussians.  They  had  counted  on 
taking  Paris  by  the  I5th  of  August,  but  they  had 
to  content  themselves  with  Louvain,  besides  losing 
many  men.  Mad  with  rage,  they  are  massacring 
all  in  their  way.  Since  the  Belgians  blocked  a 
campaign  carefully  prepared  for  half  a  century, 
the  Germans  have  sworn  to  annihilate  our  country; 
they  are  avenging  themselves,  killing  women,  old 


MARTYR 

people,  children;  abusing  maids  and  then  shooting 
them;  burning  towns  and  villages;  sweeping  every- 
thing from  their  road;  respecting  nothing,  neither 
the  cottage,  nor  the  mother,  nor  the  suckling,  not 
even  God. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  How  frightful!  how  frightful! 
Let  us  hope  that  they  will  not  return  this  way; 
they  would  surely  burn  the  farm. 

LOUISE.  That's  certain.  For  three  weeks  they 
have  not  left  off  pillaging,  murdering  and  burning. 
They  will  not  spare  us. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  Then  they  killed  the  whole 
Valkiers  family? 

LOUISE.  Yes,  grandmother;  I  did  not  want  to  tell 
you.  I  feared  to  frighten  you.  Happily  Bernard 
and  Jacques  had  gone,  or  they  would  have  shared 
the  same  fate.  Now  they  will  at  least  be  able  to 
avenge  their  dead. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  But  why  did  not  father 
Valkiers  and  his  family  leave  before  the  Prussians 
came  ? 

LOUISE.  Well,  father  Valkiers,  like  everyone  else, 
thought  the  Germans  were  soldiers,  and  not 
murderers.  No  one  would  have  believed  that 
they  would  systematically  assassinate  the  peace- 
able inhabitants  of  the  country.  In  leaving  his 
house,  Valkiers  would  have  scarificed  his  harvest; 
the  product  of  a  whole  year  of  labor  would  have 
been  lost  by  his  flight. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.     Yes,  and  to  remain  was  death. 

[12] 


MARTYR 

I  understand  how  painful  it  is  for  the  old  to  leave 

their  homes,  but  better  that  than  to  be  killed. 

And  you,  little  girl,  you  should  not  remain  here. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  Jean  may  be  able  to  take 

us  away. 
LOUISE.     If  he  comes  to  take  us,  we  will  go  together; 

if  he  does  not  come,  then,  grandmother,  I  remain 

with  you. 
THE  GRANDMOTHER.     Yes,  I  know  how  good  you 

are,  Louise,  but  it  is  not  worth  while  to  risk  your 

life  for  an  old  woman  like  me. 

LOUISE.     My  duty  is  here,  grandmother;  and  hap- 
pen what  may,  I  will  not  fail  to  do  it. 
THE  GRANDMOTHER.     Well,  do  not  let  us  speak  of 

it  any  longer,  and  may  God  protect  us.     Do  you 

not  think,  dear,  that  it  would  be  better  to  go  in? 
LOUISE.     As  you  like,  grandmother. 
THE  GRANDMOTHER.     Let  us  go;  I  should  like  to 

sleep  awhile. 
LOUISE.     You  are  right.     Since  the  Germans  have 

now  passed,   I   believe   all  immediate  danger  is 

over.     Come. 

[  LOUISE  helps  her  grandmother  to  rise.] 
THE  GRANDMOTHER.     I  am  very  tired,  Louise,  and 

much  disturbed  about  our  Jean. 
LOUISE.     God  is  good  and  just,  grandmother;  He 

will  protect  him.     Jean  will  return. 

[  While  talking^  the  two  women  disappear 
inside  the  house.  'They  close  the  door  and 
slip  the  bolt.  'The  stage  is  slightly  dark- 
ened^ 

[13] 


MARTYR 

Scene  2. 

[  VON    RAUCH    and   SCHMIDT   approach   the 
house  from  the  other  side  of  the  road  and 
listen  at  the  door.     VON  RAUCH  makes  a 
sign  to  SCHMIDT  to  examine  the  surround- 
ings  of  the  house;  after  a  few  moments  they 
return  to  the  door  and  listen^ 
VON  RAUCH.     They  are  alone. 
SCHMIDT.     Do  you  think  so? 
VON  RAUCH.     I  am  quite  sure.     [  Knocking  at  the 

door.]    Open ! 

LOUISE.     [From  the  inside.]     Who  are  you? 
VON  RAUCH.     Open,  or  we  will  break  down  the  door. 
LOUISE.     What  do  you  want? 
VON  RAUCH.     We  want  something  to  eat  and  to 

drink. 

LOUISE.     We  are  in  bed;  return  tomorrow. 
VON  RAUCH.     If  you  don't  open  instantly,  we  will 
set  fire  to  the  house;  make  haste;  in  a  moment  it 
will  be  too  late. 

LOUISE.    Have  pity  on  my  poor  grandmother! 
VON  RAUCH.     Open!    Give   us   to   drink.    Hurry! 

hurry ! 

LOUISE.     We  have  nothing  in  the  house. 
VON  RAUCH.     [  To  SCHMIDT.]     Light  the  torch. 

[  SCHMIDT  pulls  a  small  torch  from  his  pocket 
and  lights  it;  VON  RAUCH  takes  it  from 
him  and  goes  toward  the  window;  with  a 
horrible  grin  he  shows  it  to  LOUISE,  then 


RTYR 

gives  a  blow  with  it  upon  tbe  frame,  the 
flame  gushing  out.] 

[With  a  thundering  voice  \     By  thunder!    Open! 
or  I  apply  the  torch! 
LOUISE.     [  Drawing  the  bolt  and  opening  the  door.] 
Have  pity!    Have  pity  on  two  defenseless  women. 
VON  RAUCH.     [  Laughing  diabolically  and  returning 
the  torch  to   SCHMIDT.]     Ah!   ah!  .    .    .   at   last. 
We  are  not  going  to  hurt  you.     No,  no,  no,  my 
little  darling;  not  the  least  in  the  world.     [He 
tries  to  embrace  LOUISE.] 
LOUISE.     [  LOUISE  with  a  quick  movement  repulses 

him]     Let  me  alone;  what  do  you  want? 
VON  RAUCH.     First,  my  dear,  give  us  something 

good  to  drink. 

LOUISE.     We  have  only  the  beer  of  the  country. 
VON  RAUCH.    All  right,   the  beer  of  the  country 

goes.     My  orderly  will  go  with  you  to  get  it. 
LOUISE.     It  is  not  necessary;  I  will  bring  it. 
VON  RAUCH.     [  To  SCHMIDT.]     Follow  this  girl,  and 
look  well  at  what  she  does;  see  if  there  is  no  wine. 
SCHMIDT.     Very  well,  Captain. 

[  SCHMIDT  and  LOUISE  diasppear  into  the 
house.  VON  RAUCH  reflects  a  moment,  then 
takes  a  piece  of  chalk  from  his  pocket  and 
writes  upon  the  door: 

ES   IS?   VERBWEN  DIESES  HAUS 
IN  BRAND   ZU  SETZEN. 


MART  YR 

GUfE  LEUTE. 

HEINRICH  VON  RAUCH. 
HAUPVMANN* 

VON  RAUCH.  [  Rubbing  bis  bands  together.}  In  this 
way  no  one  will  disturb  us.  We  are  going  to  have 
a  fine  time;  later,  if  necessary,  I  well  set  the  house 
afire  myself. 

LOUISE.  [  Still  followed  by  SCHMIDT,  wbo  carries  a 
bottle  of  wine  in  each  hand.  LOUISE  carries  a  pot 
of  beer  and  two  glasses;  she  places  all  on  the  bench.} 
There,  sir. 

VON  RAUCH.  Ah!  ah!  Wine!  .  .  .  I  thought  you 
said  you  had  no  wine.  You  have  lied  to  me. 
[  To  SCHMIDT.]  Are  there  many  of  these  bottles? 

SCHMIDT.     These  are  all  that  I  found,  Captain. 

VON  RAUCH.  Tell  me,  darling,  you  have  many 
others,  have  you  not? 

LOUISE.  No,  sir.  These  two  were  for  my  grand- 
mother. The  doctor  ordered  her  to  take  a  little 
every  day.  These  are  all  that  remained. 

VON  RAUCH.  [  Taking  a  knife  furnished  with  a  cork- 
screw from  his  pocket  and  drawing  the  cork.}  Well, 
well  .  .  .  that's  a  fine  excuse;  the  old  lady  will 
have  to  do  without  it  for  some  days.  We,  we 
need  strength.  [  He  fills  his  glass.}  To  your 
health,  girly,  and  to  that  of  the  grandmother. 
[  Empties  the  glass  at  a  draught,  and  smacks  his 
lips.}  Zounds!  what  a  good  wine  ...  a  little 
too  rich  for  the  grandmother.  Ah,  ah,  ah. 

*It  is  forbidden  to  burn  this  house.     They  are  good  people. 

Henry  Von  Rauch,  Captain. 

fi61 


MARTYR 

[  Laughs  and  refills  the  glass.]     Eh,  Schmidt,  the 
beer  is  for  you. 

SCHMIDT.     Thank  you,  Captain. 

[  He  drinks  a  glass  of  beer,  and  then  prowls 
about  the  farm,  still  watching  the  two  while 
going  and  coming.] 

VON  RAUCH.  Come,  little  girl,  uncork  the  other 
bottle  for  me.  [  LOUISE  makes  a  sign  of  refusal.] 
How,  you  will  not  pour  for  me? 

LOUISE.     Help  yourself,  sir. 

VON  RAUCH.  Well,  little  girl,  you  are  neither 
reasonable  nor  grateful;  see  what  I  have  done  in 
your  absence.  I  have  written  on  your  door  not 
to  burn  your  house.  I  am  thus  making  you  a 
present  of  your  home.  You  are  safe  for  the 
duration  of  the  war.  No  one  will  harm  you  now. 
[  He  uncorks  the  bottle  and  pours  out  a  drink.] 

LOUISE.     I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  sir. 

VON  RAUCH.  You  say  that  very  faintly,  my  girl. 
Come,  sit  down  here.  [  He  sits  down  on  the  bench.] 
Let  us  talk  a  little.  How  old  are  you? 

LOUISE.  [  Seating  herself  at  a  good  distance  from 
VON  RAUCH.]  I  am  nineteen,  sir. 

VON  RAUCH.  Really?  You  are  a  big  girl  for  your 
age.  Where  are  your  parents? 

LOUISE.  They  are  dead.  I  have  only  my  grand- 
mother, who  is  a  paralytic,  and  my  brother. 

VON  RAUCH.     Your  brother;  where  is  he? 

LOUISE.  He  was  recalled  to  serve  under  his  colors 
at  the  beginning  of  the  war. 

VON  RAUCH.     Ah!  he  is  one  of  these  fellows  who 


MARTYR 

shoot  us  without  mercy;  these  rascals  fell  upon 
us  last  night  and  we  lost  many  men;  but  they 
will  pay  for  that. 

[  He  empties  his  glass  and  fills  it  again.] 

LOUISE.  Do  you  not  think  they  are  doing  their 
duty? 

VON  RAUCH.  Certainly,  certainly;  but  we  will  do 
ours  also.  In  three  months  we  will  dictate  the 
law  to  Europe,  then  we  will  reward  them  for  their 
audacity.  By  the  way,  are  you  married? 

LOUISE.    No,  sir. 

VON  RAUCH.  You  surely  have  a  lover.  All  beau- 
tiful girls  have  lovers.  Ah,  ah,  ah  .  .  .  [  He 
laughs.] 

LOUISE.  If  you  think  I  am  in  a  mood  for  jesting 
at  this  moment,  you  are  mistaken. 

VON  RAUCH.  There,  there,  there!  that's  all  right, 
that's  all  right.  [  Approaching  and  taking  LOUISE 
by  the  chin.]  Come,  give  a  little  kiss  to  the  captain. 

LOUISE.  [  Getting  up  and  recoiling  a  few  steps.] 
Let  me  alone. 

VON  RAUCH.  [Again  approaching.]  Eh!  eh!  don't 
play  the  prude;  don't  try  that  on  us  soldiers. 

LOUISE.  [  Still  recoiling.]  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean,  but  all  I  ask  is  that  you  will  leave  me  in 
peace. 

VON  RAUCH.  [  Seizing  LOUISE'S  wrist.]  Oh,  that's 
all  right,  I  like  women  who  resist  a  little.  Come 
...  a  little  kiss;  just  a  little  one;  ah,  ah,  ah! 

LOUISE.  [  With  a  sudden  movement  she  escapes  from 
VON  RAUCH  and  rushes  toward  the  fields ,  but  after 

[18] 


MARTYR 

a  Jew   steps   he   catches   her  again.}     Leave    me! 
Leave  me!     Leave  me! 

VON  RAUCH.  Well,  well,  my  beauty;  so  you  wish 
to  run  away.  You  are  not  reasonable.  We 
always  take  forcibly  what  is  not  granted  willingly. 
LOUISE.  Leave  me,  leave  me;  take  all  that  you 
want  from  the  house,  but  let  me  go.  [  She  strug- 
gles.} Let  me  go! 

VON  RAUCH.  [  Sneering.}  It  is  very  dangerous, 
my  dear,  to  run  about  the  fields  in  these  troublous 
times;  we  shall  be  much  better  before  a  good  table 
with  something  to  eat  and  to  drink. 

[  He  puts  his  arm  around  her  waist.} 
LOUISE.     If  you  touch  me  I  will  call  for  help. 

[  'Trying  to  free   herself,   she  struggles   with 
VON  RAUCH  for  a  few  moments,  when  he 
picks  her  up  and  carries  her  into  the  house.} 
LOUISE.     Help!    Help!    Help!  .    .    . 

[  From  the  bottom  of  the  stage,  SCHMIDT  looks 
at  what  is  going  on  with  an  air  of  indiffer- 
ence, then  slowly  comes  forward  and  mounts 
guard  before  the  house.     For  a  few  moments 
the  cries  of  LOUISE  are  heard,  then  there  is 
silence.     SCHMIDT  walks  up  and  down;  he 
goes  to  the  window,  looks  inside,  and  then 
resumes  his  march  along  the  house.} 
SCHMIDT.     And  to  say  that  we  are  commanded  by 
such  brutes! 

[  Enter    JEAN,    who    approaches    the    house 
stealthily,  and,  noticing  SCHMIDT,  conceals 

[19] 


MARTYR 

himself  behind  a  tree.  SCHMIDT,  who  has 
heard  some  noise,  goes  toward  the  woods; 
but  seeing  nothing  he  returns  to  the  house 
and  takes  up  his  post  before  the  door.  JEAN 
waits  until  he  reappears  to  send  a  ball  after 
him;  then  he  rushes  toward  the  house,  while 
SCHMIDT,  wounded,  makes  his  escape  in  the 
woods.  JEAN  tries  to  open  the  door,  but 
finds  it  locked  from  the  inside;  he  breaks  it 
with  the  butt  of  his  gun.  It  yields  just  as 
VON  RAUCH  takes  flight  through  the  window. 
JEAN  attacks  him,  and  a  struggle  between  the 
two  men  takes  place  on  the  road.] 
JEAN.  Ah!  you  scoundrel!  So  you  attack  lonely 

women ! 
VON  RAUCH.     [  With  sarcasm.}     Come  here,  wretch 

of  a  Belgian;  I  am  going  to  send  you  to  God  or 

to  hell.     Ah,  ah,  ah!   .    .    . 
JEAN.     [  Giving    VON    RAUCH    a    wound    with    his 

bayonet.}     There,  bandit,  take  that! 
VON  RAUCH.     [  Feeling  for  a  second  his  face,  which 

is  bleeding;  he  throws  himself  on  JEAN,  and  strikes 

him  in  the  breast  with  his  sword.]     There,  comrade, 

with  interest! 

[  JEAN  sinks  down  and  VON  RAUCH  escapes.] 
JEAN.     [  Dragging  himself  toward  the  house,  gaining 

ground  slowly,  one  hand  on  the  ground,  the  other  on 

his    breast.]      Louise!      Louise!      Help!      Help! 

[  He  continues  to  crawl  toward  the  house.}    Louise! 

Louise ! 

[20] 


MARTYR 


LOUISE.  [  Tottering,  her  hair  dishevelled,  she  appears 
on  the  threshold;  with  haggard  eyes  she  stops  there 
for  a  moment,  then  she  rushes  toward  her  brother.] 


Jean!    Jean 
JEAN.     Yes   . 

but  here   .    . 
LOUISE.     Oh! 
JEAN.     What 


You  are  wounded! 
yes   ...   in    the 


in    tne    breast  .    .    . 
what  has  happened? 
It  is  horrible!     It  is  horrible! 

.    .  what  .    .    .   have    they   killed 
grandmother? 
LOUISE.     No,  no,  she  is  all  right;  she  is  in  bed. 
JEAN.     Ah   .    .    .   then   I   understand   ...   I   un- 
derstand  .    .    .   the  monsters! 

LOUISE.     [  Trying  to  raise  him.]     Come,  lean  on  me. 
[  JEAN  raises  himself  a  little,  then  slips  to  the 

ground.] 

LOUISE.     Poor  brother,  poor  brother. 
JEAN.     [  Carrying  his  hand  to  his  throat.]     Louise 
...  ah  ...  I  believe  ...  I  am  going  .    .    . 
to  die   ...   farewell   .    .    .   farewell   .    .    . 

[  He  falls  backward  and  remains  motionless. 
LOUISE,  weeping,  kneels  near  him] 


[21] 


MARTYR 

Act  II. 


MARTYR 


ACT  II. 

'The  farm  of  the  BRUNEELS  one  year  after.     The 
stage  shows  a  room  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  farm- 
house.    Two  windows  and  a  door  at  the  left  give  on 
the  road;  at  the  right  two  doors  lead  to  the  sleeping 
rooms.     A  large  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  some 
scattered  chairs.     On  the  wall  a  statue  of  the  Virgin. 
[  At  the  rising  of  the  curtain,  the  GRAND- 
MOTHER is  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  near  the 
table.     LOUISE  sits  near  her  grandmother. 
While  knitting,  she  rocks  a  cradle^ 
LOUISE.    Tell  me,  grandmother,  has  Jean  spoken 

again  about  this  marriage? 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  Yes;  he  speaks  of  it  every 
day;  he  spoke  of  it  last  night;  he  spoke  of  it  this 
morning;  he  wishes  you  to  marry  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. Bernard  is  a  good  fellow,  who  understands 
your  misfortune,  and  he  is  intelligent  enough  not 
to  care  what  people  say. 

[25] 


MARTYR 

LOUISE.  Grandmother,  it  is  absolutely  impossible. 
I  am  very  fond  of  Bernard,  and  for  this  reason  I 
cannot  marry  him.  What  would  life  be  a  few 
months  after  marriage?  It  would  be  unbearable. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  Bernard  loves  you;  there  is 
nothing  to  justify  your  fears. 

LOUISE.  No,  no;  I  have  carefully  considered  my 
situation.  Bernard's  first  impulse  is  good,  and  I 
believe  him  sincere;  but  as  the  child  grows  up, 
when  he  will  have  every  day  under  his  eyes  this 
creature  whom  he  must  detest,  and  whom  he  can 
only  curse,  what  will  be  his  sufferings?  How  will 
he  then  regret  this  marriage  which  now  he  desires 
so  much? 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  Of  course,  the  child  is  in  the 
way;  but  you  might  put  it  in  the  care  of  some 
good  woman  near  by,  where  you  could  see  it  from 
time  to  time. 

LOUISE.  No,  no,  it  is  impossible.  I  love  my  child; 
it  is  not  his  fault  that  he  came  into  the  world,  the 
poor  thing!  Did  he  ask  to  come?  Must  he  sub- 
mit to  the  consequences  of  a  crime  of  which  we 
both  were  the  victims?  No,  no;  I  wish  to  bring 
him  up  myself,  the  poor  darling.  [  She  gazes  at 
the  cradle^  He  has  only  me  in  the  world. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  Louise,  you  are  not  reason- 
able; you  are  young  and  overwrought.  Try  to 
follow  the  advice  of  your  grandmother,  who 
desires  only  your  good;  you  love  your  child,  which 
is  only  right  and  natural;  but  we  must  find  a  way 

[26] 


MARTYR 

out  of  every  trouble.  Be  wise;  marry  Bernard. 
That  will  assure  your  future  and  the  child's.  If 
you  undertake  the  struggle  alone,  with  this  child 
on  your  arm,  your  life  will  be  one  great  Calvary. 
You  will  prepare  for  yourself  a  martyrdom.  You 
do  not  foresee  the  incessant  suffering.  Listen  to 
me,  Louise,  take  my  advice. 

LOUISE.  No,  it  is  impossible!  In  a  short  time 
Bernard  would  reproach  me  for  having  accepted 
this  marriage,  and  he  would  be  right.  My  life  is 
ruined,  but  I  have  not  the  right  to  embitter  his. 
He  would  awake  from  this  dream  of  a  day,  and 
remember  the  outrage  of  the  vile  Prussian!  No, 
no;  it  is  impossible. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  My  poor  child!  You  don't 
know  the  human  heart.  Little  by  little,  forget- 
fulness  will  come,  and  in  a  few  years  this  sad  story 
will  be  entirely  effaced  from  his  memory;  the  bleed- 
ing wound  of  today  will  close  and  become  only  a 
remembrance. 

LOUISE.  Oh!  your  words  are  kind,  and  delude  me 
for  a  time.  They  would  almost  make  me  believe 
in  the  possibility  of  this  dream;  but  alas!  as  the 
years  go  by,  the  child  will  grow  and  would  always 
be  there  to  recall  the  crime.  That  destroys  even 
the  illusion  of  happiness. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.     You  are  not  reasonable. 

LOUISE.  Do  not  say  that,  grandmother;  I  see  only 
too  clearly. 


MARTYR 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  If  you  tell  your  brother  your 
decision,  he  will  again  be  angry. 

LOUISE.  Yes,  I  know  my  resistance  displeases  him; 
but  it  is  better  to  suffer  alone  than  that  others 
should  suffer  too.  .  .  .  [  She  rises  and  carries  the 
cradle  near  the  window,  then  returns  to  the  table.} 
Tell  me,  grandmother,  why  does  Jean  keep 
Schmidt  on  the  farm?  Now  that  this  man  is 
completely  cured,  he  should  return  to  his  country, 
or  at  least  go  away  from  here;  he  also  makes  us 
recall  our  misfortunes. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  I  have  already  spoken  to  your 
brother  about  it.  He  says  that  Schmidt  is  a  good 
workman;  he  is  very  devoted  to  us.  Jean  will 
keep  him  as  long  as  he  wishes  to  stay  on  the  farm. 

LOUISE.  Yes,  I  know  that  Schmidt  is  very  grateful 
for  the  care  I  gave  him  after  I  found  him  dying 
in  the  wood;  but  now  that  he  is  cured,  his  pres- 
ence can  only  revive  our  miseries. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  Yes,  little  girl,  you  saved  his 
life;  when  you  took  help  to  him  he  had  not  two 
hours  to  live;  so  he  would  do  anything  in  the 
world  to  pay  his  debt  of  gratitude.  You  will  see, 
Schmidt  will  be  of  use  to  you  one  day. 

LOUISE.     Maybe;  but  I  would  rather  see  him  gone. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  Jean  is  very  fond  of  him;  he 
is  active  and  skillful.  The  new  door  that  he  has 
just  made  for  the  house  is  beautifully  done.  By 
the  way,  what  did  he  do  with  the  other  door? 

LOUISE.  He  stored  it  carefully  away  in  the  cellar.. 
I  wonder  what  he  wants  it  for. 


28 


MARTYR 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.     I  really  wonder. 

LOUISE.  Jean  and  Schmidt  have  odd  ideas.  Jean 
listens  a  little  too  much  to  him;  they  are  always 
brewing  something  between  them. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  Both  wish  you  well.  Jean  is 
a  little  quick-tempered,  but  his  heart  is  good. 
Here  he  is !  [  JEAN  enters.}  Well,  my  boy,  what 
good  work  have  you  done  today? 

JEAN.  Oh,  nothing  particular;  I  just  came  back 
with  Bernard.  He  asked  for  news  of  you,  Louise. 

LOUISE.  Bernard  need  not  trouble  himself  about 
me;  one  would  say  he  takes  a  malicious  pleasure 
in  bothering  me. 

JEAN.  I  think  rather  that  it  is  you  who  abuse  his 
kindness  and  generosity.  He  loves  you  and  wants 
you  for  his  wife;  he  wants  to  make  you  happy. 

LOUISE.     It  is  impossible. 

JEAN.  It  is  impossible!  I  see  nothing  impossible 
in  it.  You  are  playing  a  risky  game.  Remaining 
single,  you  will  be  at  the  mercy  of  people  all  your 
life.  You  know  the  world  is  more  inclined  to 
malice  than  to  sympathy.  Married,  you  would 
be  respected.  You  are  trifling  with  your  fate. 

LOUISE.  Yes,  I  know  all  that;  Bernard  is  a  good 
fellow,  but  shall  I  not  always  carry  with  me  the 
shame  of  a  ruined  creature?  Will  I  not  eternally 
drag  this  chain  of  infamy?  What  would  become 
of  Bernard  under  this  constant  disgrace?  No,  no; 
I  do  not  want  to  marry;  I  must  remain  alone 
with  my  child. 

[29] 


MARTYR 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  Louise,  Louise,  you  exaggerate. 
At  your  age  one  should  not  see  life  so  dark.  If 
Bernard  marries  you,  it  is  because  he  has  weighed 
everything,  looked  everything  squarely  in  the  face. 
He  knows  what  he  is  doing;  he  will  make  you 
happy,  I  am  sure. 

LOUJSE.  The  mere  idea  makes  me  shudder.  To 
give  myself  to  this  man,  whom  I  esteem  and  love, 
seems  to  me  a  crime;  and  if  children  should  come 
later,  they  would  curse  their  mother.  What 
sufferings  would  then  be  his  and  mine!  Oh!  no, 
no;  never,  never! 

JEAN.  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about. 
Who  do  you  suppose  would  tell  to  your  children 
the  terrible  fate  that  befell  you  without  any  fault 
of  yours?  Once  you  are  married,  everyone  will 
forget. 

LOUISE.  No;  the  world  never  forgets.  It  cannot 
forget  that  our  house  here  was  almost  the  only 
one  which  the  Germans  left  standing  in  the  village. 
You  know  how  some  of  our  neighbors  talk.  Last 
Sunday  at  mass  I  heard  a  woman  behind  me  say: 
"See,  there  is  Louise  with  her  little  Prussian  brat." 
I  almost  fainted  with  shame;  I  wanted  to  sink  in 
the  earth.  I  repeat,  it  is  impossible,  impossible; 
never,  never,  never! 

JEAN.     Who  dared  to  say  that? 

LOUISE.  I  don't  know;  but  what  does  it  matter? 
I  cannot  even  go  to  mass  any  more.  Henceforth 
I  will  go  and  pray  God  in  the  solitude  of  the 

[3°] 


MARTYR 

woods;  happiness  has  been  denied  to  me,  but  if  I 
go  through  life  doing  my  duty,  He  will  one  day 
give  me  a  heart  at  peace. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  [  Sobbing  softly.]  To  think 
that  it  is  I  who  am  the  cause  of  this  child's  sorrow! 

LOUISE.  Grandmother,  let  us  leave  this  subject; 
speak  of  it  no  more,  will  you? 

JEAN.  Louise  only  did  her  duty.  [  Going  to  LOUISE 
and  putting  his  band  on  her  shoulder^  Console 
yourself,  little  sister;  we  will  make  you  happy. 
Now  go  to  your  work. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.  [  Wiping  her  eyes.]  Louise, 
help  me  to  bed;  I  am  tired. 

JEAN.  Bernard  is  coming  here  presently;  it  is  use- 
less for  him  to  see  you. 

LOUISE.  That's  true;  but,  above  all,  rid  him  of  the 
idea  of  this  marriage. 

THE  GRANDMOTHER.     Good  night,  my  boy. 

JEAN.     Good  night,  grandmother. 

[  ¥he  two  women  leave  the  stage.] 

JEAN.  [  <To  himself.]  What  a  sad  thing  is  war! 
What  ruins  it  draws  after  it!  How  many  inno- 
cent victims  are  caught  in  its  horrible  machinery 
and  sacrificed  without  pity!  What  hate,  what 
wretchedness  comes  in  its  wake!  One  shudders 
with  horror.  Now,  what  is  to  be  done  with  that 
child,  the  only  obstacle  to  the  happiness  of  Louise? 
What  is  to  be  done? 

[  Someone  knocks  at  the  door.] 

JEAN.     Come  in! 


MARTYR 

[  BERNARD  and  SCHMIDT  enter  and  seat  them- 
selves at  the  table.} 

BERNARD.     Well,  where  is  Louise? 
JEAN.     She  is  busy  around  the  farm. 
BERNARD.     What  did  she  decide? 
JEAN.     She  will  not  consent. 
BERNARD.     I  must  speak  to  her. 
JEAN.     I  think  it  is  useless;  what  neither  grand- 
mother nor  I  could  obtain,  I  doubt  if  you  will. 

The  child  is  in  the  way;  it  is  the  main  obstacle. 

I  think  we  had  better  to  go  back  to  our  plan  of 

last  week. 
BERNARD.     What!  to  take  away  the  child?     Don't 

think  of  it. 
JEAN.     Just   a   moment.     Let   us   send   it    to   the 

country  for  awhile;  say  for  a  month  or  two. 
BERNARD.     Louise  would  lose  her  mind. 
JEAN.     Bah!  it  would  only  be  a  question  of  a  few 

days.     To  get  back  her  child,  she  will  consent  in 

a   short    time.     What   do    you    think   about   it, 

Schmidt? 
SCHMIDT.     You   can   use   me   as   you   please.     For 

Louise's  sake  no  sacrifice  will  be  too  great.     She 

saved  my  life;  it  belongs  to  her. 
JEAN.     You  said  you  had  a  brother  at  Coblenz? 
SCHMIDT.     Yes;  he  is  a  farmer  near  Coblenz.     He 

has  several  children;  it  would  be  simply  one  more. 
BERNARD.     I  fear  lest  the  taking  away  of  her  child 

will  drive  her  to  frenzy. 
JEAN.     I  believe  there  is  no  danger;  it  is  only  a 

[32] 


MARTYR 

question  of  time.  Besides,  Schmidt  will  send  us 
news  every  week.  Anyway,  let  us  try.  I  think 
that  once  her  child  is  gone,  she  will  consent  to 
marry  you. 

BERNARD.     How  long  does  it  take  to  make  the  trip? 

SCHMIDT.     About  twelve  hours. 

BERNARD.     There  will  be  no  danger  for  the  child? 

SCHMIDT.  None;  leaving  here  in  the  evening,  it 
would  be  in  safety  at  noon  the  next  day. 

BERNARD.  After  our  marriage,  she  could  have  her 
child  come  back;  you  could  bring  it  back  to  us. 

SCHMIDT.     Certainly,  Bernard;  I  am  at  your  orders. 

JEAN.  Then  you  are  willing  to  leave  with  the 
child? 

SCHMIDT.     Whenever  you  wish. 

JEAN.  Very  well.  What  arrangements  shall  we 
make;  when  will  you  start? 

SCHMIDT.  I  could  take  the  express  this  very  even- 
ing; it  reaches  Louvain  about  ten  o'clock.  I  shall 
be  at  Cologne  tomorrow  morning,  and  by  noon 
at  my  brother's. 

JEAN.  Yes,  but  I  cannot  give  you  the  child  till 
Louise  has  gone  to  bed,  about  nine  o'clock;  that 
would  still  leave  you  time  enough  to  reach  Louvain 
before  ten. 

BERNARD.  I  will  wait  for  Schmidt  on  the  road 
with  the  carriage. 

JEAN.  Schmidt  will  send  you  news,  and  we  will 
give  it  to  Louise;  she  must  not  know  where  the 
child  is. 


33 


MARTYR 

SCHMIDT.     It  is  understood.     I  will  write  to  Bernard. 

JEAN.  Very  well.  Schmidt,  go  make  your  arrange- 
ments; have  some  milk  boiled  to  feed  the  child 
on  the  way. 

SCHMIDT.  All  right.  I  will  be  ready  at  nine  o'clock, 
and  be  here  at  the  door;  Bernard  will  be  waiting 
for  me  at  the  turn  of  the  road.  As  soon  as  I 
arrive  at  Coblenz,  I  will  send  you  news. 

JEAN.  [Rising.]  Well,  that's  all  settled.  Then 
I'll  see  you  later. 

[  BERNARD  and  SCHMIDT  exeunt^ 

JEAN.  [  Pensive.]  Yes  .  .  .  yes  ...  it  is  not 
very  difficult  to  take  the  child  away;  but  after- 
ward, when  Louise  sees  that  her  child  has  gone, 
what  a  scene  we  shall  have!  I  dare  not  think  of 
it.  Of  course,  I  could  always  bring  it  back  if  she 
is  too  violent.  Poor  Louise  .  .  .  has  she  ever 
deserved  such  sufferings  ?  People  speak  of  divine 
justice,  but  all  this  is  too  much  of  a  muddle  for 
me.  Surely,  it  was  her  courage  and  devotion  to 
duty  that  caused  all  her  misfortune.  Where,  then, 
is  the  recompense  for  worth,  for  right,  for  honor 
and  virtue.  One  would  rather  say  that  in  this 
life  there  is  happiness  only  for  knaves,  and  success 
for  villians.  Poor  sister;  what  will  her  awaken- 
ing be! 

LOUISE.  [  She  enters  and  goes  at  once  to  the  cradle.] 
The  poor  little  thing;  it  is  still  asleep! 

JEAN.  Bernard  and  Schmidt  have  just  gone.  Let 
us  have  supper,  Louise.  I  will  go  to  bed  early; 

[34] 


RTYR 

tomorrow  there  will  be  a  great  deal  of  work  to 
do  in  the  field. 

LOUISE.  Very  well;  I  will  lay  the  table.  We  shall 
sup  in  five  minutes.  [  She  takes  the  cradle  and 
carries  it  into  the  adjoining  room,  then  returns  and 
sets  the  table;  while  she  attends  to  her  household 
duties,  the  conversation  continues.]  Then  Bernard 
has  abandoned  his  project? 

JEAN.  Not  at  all;  not  at  all.  He  is  patient,  and 
does  not  despair  of  convincing  you. 

LOUISE.     The  poor  man!    Sincerely,  I  pity  him. 

JEAN.  Oh,  he  is  a  determined  fellow;  he  decides 
with  energy.  Nothing  will  stop  him  from  carry- 
ing out  his  purpose.  You  are  wrong  in  vexing 
him  and  driving  him  to  desperation. 

LOUISE.  I  wish  only  his  good.  In  a  few  years  he 
will  be  very  grateful  to  me  for  having  resisted  a 
passion  as  unreasonable  as  it  is  wrong.  He  ought 
to  understand  that  it  does  not  concern  us  alone, 
but  also  those  who  might  be  born  .  .  .  There, 
supper  is  ready. 

[  'They  sit  down  and  continue  talking.] 

JEAN.  Oh,  Bernard  does  not  look  into  it  so  far;  he 
loves  you,  he  wants  you  for  his  wife;  he  wishes  to 
protect  you;  as  for  consequences,  he  cares  little. 

LOUISE.  He  is  wrong;  it  is  precisely  the  conse- 
quences from  which  I  foresee  terrible  trouble,  and 
of  which  he  should  think. 

JEAN.  [  Sharply.]  Listen,  Louise;  you  tire  me  with 
your  foreboding  and  your  arguments. 

[351 


MARTYR 

LOUISE.     Yes,  yes;  I  know  it  very  well.     You,  who 

should  protect  and  advise  me  like  a  father,  you 

join  with  the  others  to  harass  me;  besides,  it  is 

not  so  much  that  you  want  to  see  me  married  to 

Bernard;  no,  no,  any  other  would  do  as  well;  you 

would  like  to  see  me  go  away  from  here.     You 

want  me  to  leave  the  farm;  that  is  the  truth. 

JEAN.     I  confess  that  this  is  one  of  the  reasons  I 

would  like  to  see  you  married;  the  people  of  the 

neighborhood  are  beginning  to  gossip.     Once  you 

are  married,  they  would  keep  still. 

LOUISE.     If  you  don't  want  me  to  stay  here,  I  will 

go  to  the  city  with  my  child;  but  marry,  never! 

Do  you  understand;  never! 

JEAN.     [  Angrily.}     You  will  probably  change  your 

mind  before  long. 
LOUISE.     Never!  never! 
JEAN.     [  Getting  up.]    We  shall  see. 

[  Weeping  quietly,  she  clears  the  table;  JEAN 

takes  off  his  shoes  and  gets  ready  for  bed; 

he  throws  his  shoes  in  a  corner  of  the  room.} 

JEAN.     [  Tawning.}     Oouw  ...   I  am  glad  to  go 

to  bed;  I  am  tired.     Good  night. 

[  He  disappears  in  his  bedroom.     LOUISE  does 

not  answer;  when  alone,  she  goes  to  her  child, 

embraces  it,  and  places  it  on  the  floor  before 

the  Fir  gin;  then  kneels  before  the  statue.] 

LOUISE.     [  She  prays.]     O  God,  the  compassionate! 

You   who   have   taken   my   father   and   mother. 

Alone  on  earth,  without  friends,  without  support, 

[36] 


MARTYR 

what  is  going  to  become  of  me?  What  will 
become  of  the  child  which  Thou  hast  sent?  .  .  . 
What  fate  awaits  us  ?  This  child,  born  of  a  crime, 
repulsed  by  everyone;  what  a  life  of  wretchedness 
is  opened  before  it!  No  one  to  love  it,  no  one  to 
protect  it;  what  will  become  of  it  .  .  .  what 
will  become  of  it!  [Raising  her  arms  toward  the 
Virgin.]  Oh,  Mother  of  our  Lord,  Thou  who  hast 
suffered,  regard  our  sufferings;  have  pity  on  my 
child;  have  pity  on  this  little  innocent  who  did 
not  ask  to  be  born.  Mother  of  the  Saviour,  guide 
his  steps  through  the  sad  life  which  he  begins. 
[  She  raises  the  child  toward  the  Virgin.}  Blessed 
Mother,  protect  him  .  .  .  have  pity  .  .  .  have 
pity. 

[  She  rises,  embraces  the  child,  and  carries  it 
back  to  her  room.  The  stage  is  slightly 
darkened.  LOUISE  withdraws  into  her  room, 
of  which  she  leaves  the  door  ajar.  JEAN 
opens  his  door  softly,  and  watches  the  move- 
ments of  his  sister.  He  waits  awhile,  then 
quietly  enters  the  room  of  LOUISE  and 
reappears  with  the  child,  which  he  wraps  in 
a  blanket.} 
LOUISE.  [  Drowsily,  from  her  room.]  Is  that  you, 

Jean  ? 

JEAN.     Yes;  it  is  I. 
LOUISE.     What  are  you  doing? 
JEAN.     I  forgot  to  unchain  the  dogs;  I  will  be  back 
in  a  moment. 


37] 


MARTYR 

[He  goes  toward  the  door  and  opens  it. 
SCHMIDT  enters  and  gives  him  a  letter;  he 
puts  his  fingers  on  his  lips  to  indicate  silence. 
JEAN  throws  the  letter  on  the  table,  then  the 
two  men  go  out.  'The  stage  is  empty  for  a 
moment,  then  LOUISE  comes  out  in  her 
nightdress.  She  looks  around,  then  slowly 
she  goes  to  the  door  and  listens^ 

LOUISE.  What  is  that?  ...  a  carnage  on  the 
road  .  .  .  [  Thoughtfully  she  returns  to  the  table 
and  sees  the  letter;  she  takes  it,  looks  at  it  for  an 
instant  perplexedly,  then  opens  and  reads  it  aloud.] 
"  Madamoiselle  Louise : 

"Your  brother  wishes  me  to  take  your  child  to 
the  country  for  a  time.     I  will  give  you  news 
every  week.     Fear  nothing;  I  swear  to  watch  over 
it.     After  your  marriage,  I  will  bring  it  back. 
"Yours  with  devotion  until  death, 

"Josef  Schmidt." 

[  She  first  rushes  into  her  room;  then,  bewildered  and 
holding  her  head  with  both  hands,  she  cries  out  in  a 
desperate  low  voice \  The  child  is  gone! 

[  She  stops  an  instant,  then  flies  to  the  door; 
but  JEAN  enters  and  bars  the  way.] 

LOUISE.  My  child!  .  .  .  my  child!  ...  I  want 
my  child!  What  have  you  done  with  it?  You 
have  no  right  to  take  it  from  me.  You  are  going 
to  kill  it;  without  me  it  will  die! 

JEAN.     Don't  make  so  much  noise.     I  have  sent  the 

[38] 


MARTYR 

child  to  the  country  for  a  few  days.     It  will  be 
all  right  there. 

LOUISE.     No,  no;  I  do  not  want  to  be  separated 

from  my  child!    I  do  not  want  to!     I  do  not 

want  to!    No  one  has  the  right  to  take  it  from  me. 

[  She   rushes    again    toward  the   door.      He 

forcibly  restrains  her.} 
JEAN.     Louise,  stay  here;  do  not  make  a  scandal; 

the  neighbors  meddle  enough  already. 
LOUISE.     [  Bursting  into  tears  and  throwing  herself 
at  his  feet '.]    Jean!  Jean!  give  me  back  my  child! 
give  me  back  my  child!     In  the  name  of  our  dear 
mother,  give  me  back  my  child!  .    .    . 
JEAN.     All  right!    In  a  few  days;  in  a  week  or  two. 
LOUISE.     God!   God!    They   are  going  to  kill  it! 
They  are  going  to  kill  it!    Pity!  pity!  pity! 

[  Holding  her  head,  she  totters,  and  falls  in  a 
faint  at  his  feet.] 


[39] 


MARTYR 

Act  III. 


MARTYR 

ACT  III. 

The  stage  shows  the  village  market-place.  The 
church  is  at  the  right;  three  or  four  steps  lead  to  the 
entrance.  On  the  other  side  of  the  square  is  a  beer- 
house, with  a  table  and  some  chairs  before  the  door.} 

[  At  the  rising  of  the  curtain  BERNARD  and 
LOUISE  are  talking  in  the  center  of  the 
market  place.  LOUISE  is  dressed  in  black; 
she  wears  a  little  silver  cross  at  her  neck. 
The  door  of  the  church  is  open.  It  is  Sun- 
day, and  the  villagers  are  going  to  high  mass.} 
BERNARD.  So  Jean  told  you  that  I  took  your  child 

away,  did  he  not? 

LOUISE.  Well,  he  told  me  that  so  long  as  I  refused 
to  consent  to  marry  you,  you  would  keep  my 
child  away. 

BERNARD.  Louise,  the  child  is  in  good  health,  and 
very  well  where  it  is.  Schmidt  is  watching  over 

[43] 


MARTYR 

it;  but  if  you  will  marry  me,  we  will  return  it  to 
you  immediately. 

LOUISE.  I  don't  understand  your  conditions.  What 
right  have  you  to  take  my  child  away?  By  what 
right  do  you  keep  it,  without  telling  me  where  it 
is?  By  what  right  do  you  hinder  me  from  seeing 
it?  It  is  infamous!  Listen,  Bernard.  I  loved 
you;  now,  I  hate  you! 

BERNARD.  You  can  have  your  child  back  whenever 
you  wish.  Let  us  marry,  and  two  days  after,  it 
will  be  at  our  home. 

LOUISE.  No!  Besides,  you  fill  me  with  horror. 
You  take  advantage  of  my  weakness  because  I  am 
without  friends  and  without  defense.  You  keep 
my  child  from  me;  but  beware!  I  will  make  a 
complaint,  and  you  will  be  obliged  to  return  it 
to  me. 

BERNARD.  Louise,  I  love  you,  and  I  will  have  your 
child  brought  back;  but  as  for  making  a  complaint, 
that  will  not  help  you.  You  have  no  proof  against 
me;  you  will  simply  make  trouble  for  your  brother. 
It  is  he  who  took  it  away. 

LOUISE.  Yes,  yes;  you  depend  upon  that  to  keep 
me  quiet;  but  I  will  be  revenged. 

BERNARD.  [  Approaching  LOUISE  and  taking  her 
hand.}  I  beg  you,  my  dear  Louise,  be  calm;  we 
have  taken  your  child  away  in  the  hope  of  making 
you  change  your  decision. 

LOUISE.  [  Drawing  her  hand  away  brusquely.}  Yes, 
and  you  have  gained  just  the  contrary.  More 

[44] 


MARTYR 

than  ever,  I  see  how  impossible  this  marriage  is; 
you  yourself  will  be  thankful  one  day  that  I 
refused. 

[  ne  church  bell  strikes,  calling  the  congre- 
gation to  the  service.  Some  villagers  pass 
LOUISE  whispering;  a  woman  turns  and 
points  her  out  scornfully '.] 
BERNARD.  [  Again  taking  LOUISE'S  hand.}  Come, 
dear  Louise;  you  know  that  I  will  never  be  happy 
without  you.  It  was  wrong  to  take  away  your 
child,  but  it  was  because  of  my  love  for  you  that 
I  consented  to  it. 

[  At  this  moment  MARTHA  passes,  going  to 
mass  with  two  of  her  friends;  they  see 
LOUISE,  laugh  sneer "ingly,  and  enter  the 
church.} 

LOUISE.     Do  you  see,  Bernard,  to  what  you  would 
be  exposed  from  morning  till  night  ?     Do  you  hear 
those  girls?    Their  laugh  breaks  my  heart.     I  die 
with  shame!     Martha  tattles  in  the  village;  she 
is  jealous;  she  loves  you;  marry  her. 
BERNARD.     No,  no;  I  cannot  bear  that  woman.     I 
will  make  her  keep  silence.    At  the  first  oppor- 
tunity, she  is  going  to  get  a  lesson. 
LOUISE.     For  the  love  of  Heaven,  do  not  make  a 
scandal.    Am  I  not  unhappy  enough  as  it  is? 

BERNARD.     Dear  Louise,  it  only  depends  upon  your- 
self to  be  happy. 

LOUISE.     Well,  first  have  my  child  brought  back; 

[45] 


MARTYR 

then  later,  when  everything  is  forgotten,   then 

perhaps   .    .    .  One  never  knows. 
BERNARD.     Listen,  Louise;  I  will  have  your  child 

brought  back  next  week;  I  will  talk  to  Jean  about 

it  today. 
LOUISE.     Oh,  Bernard!    Thanks!  thanks!    We  will 

always  be  friends. 
BERNARD.     [  Shaking  her  hand.]    That's  all  right; 

that's  all  right. 

LOUISE.     Mass  has  begun;  I  must  be  off.     Good  bye. 
BERNARD.     Good  bye,  Louise. 

[  She  disappears   in   the   church.     BERNARD 
goes  over  to  the  beer  shop,  seats  himself  at  the 
table  before  the  door,  and  calls  the  keeper.} 
BERNARD.    Here,   Roulands!    Give   me   a   pot   of 

beer. 
ROULANDS.     [  'Thrusting   his    head   out.]    Yes,    sir; 

yes,  sir. 

[  He  goes  to  get  the  beer.] 
BERNARD.     Poor  Louise,  poor  little  girl;  to  think 

that  it  is  these  cursed  Prussians  who  have  caused 

all   my   troubles.     They   murdered  my   parents; 

they   murdered  my  sisters,   my  young  brother; 

they   burned  our   farm;  Jacques  is   blind.     The 

ruffians  have  left  me  nothing.     They  violated  my 

fiance;  they  have  embittered  my  whole  life. 

[  'The  innkeeper  returns  with  a  pot  of  beery  and 

pours  BERNARD  a  drink.} 
BERNARD.     [  Throwing  money  on  the  table.]     Have 

you  seen  Jean  this  morning? 

[46] 


MARTYR 

ROULANDS.  No,  Bernard,  not  yet;  but  he  will 
surely  come.  By  the  way,  how  is  the  little 
Louise?  I  saw  you  talking  together  a  few  mo- 
ments ago. 

BERNARD.  How  is  she?  As  you  saw  yourself,  she 
is  very  well.  Why  this  question? 

ROULANDS.  They  say  in  the  village  that  she  got 
rid  of  her  child. 

BERNARD.     Bah!  and  who  says  that? 

ROULANDS.  Oh,  I  heard  it.  You  know  very  well 
that  we  do  not  lack  evil  tongues. 

BERNARD.  People  busy  themselves  about  things 
which  don't  concern  them. 

ROULANDS.  It  is  true.  Louise  is  a  good  girl,  and 
should  be  pitied.  Martha  has  a  vile  tongue,  and 
sneers  at  her  whenever  she  can.  It  seems  to  me 
that  she  is  jealous  of  Louise. 

BERNARD.  Martha  will  be  sorry  for  it  one  of  these 
days;  besides,  I  am  going  to  stop  all  that  gossip. 
I  am  going  to  marry  Louise;  afterward,  let  the 
first  one  I  find  slandering  her  beware. 

ROULANDS.     You  are  going  to  marry  Louise! 

BERNARD.  And  why  not?  What  is  there  strange 
in  that? 

ROULANDS.     You  would  adopt  the  Prussian's  child? 

BERNARD.     I  will  legalize  Louise's  child. 

ROULANDS.     That  is  very  generous,  Bernard. 

BERNARD.  I  do  not  see  any  generosity  in  that.  I 
love  Louise;  I  marry  her,  and  quite  naturally  I 
take  the  child  also. 

[47] 


MARTYR 

ROULANDS.    That's  absolutely  right,  Bernard.    Look, 

there  are  your  friends  coming. 

[JEAN  and  three  other  villagers  enter;  they 

shake  hands  with  BERNARD.] 
JEAN.     Good  morning,  old  fellow. 
THE  THREE  OTHER  MEN.     Hallo,  Bernard.     Good 

morning,  Bernard. 

[  All  shake  hands  and  sit  down.} 
BERNARD.     [  To  the  innkeeper.}     Here,  another  pot 

of  beer! 

[  The  innkeeper  brings  the  beer  and  glasses.} 
JEAN.     Then  it  is  here  that  you  go  to  mass  on 

Sunday,  eh? 
BERNARD.     My  boy,  every  Sunday  I  go  to  the  first 

mass  in  the  early  morning.     I  don't  like  to  go  to 

high  mass;  it  is  too  long  and  too  dry. 
[  The  friends  burst  out  laughing.} 
JEAN.     All  right,  all  right!     You  are  nothing  but  a 

heathen.     Come;  to  Bernard's  health! 

[  They  drink.} 
BERNARD.     And   then   I    come   here   to   learn    the 

gossip    of    the    village.     It    is    sometimes    very 

interesting. 

JEAN.     True;  and  what  is  the  news  today? 
BERNARD.     It  seems  that  Martha  is  slandering  your 

sister. 
JEAN.     Let  her  take  care;  one  of  these  days  I  will 

catch  her.  They  say  that  she  has  a  case  on  you. 
BERNARD.  She  stops  me  every  time  she  meets  me. 
JEAN.  Does  she  speak  to  you  of  Louise? 

[48] 


MARTYR 

BERNARD.     She  has  never  dared. 

JEAN.  She  is  a  sly  one.  By  the  way,  it  seems  that 
the  government  is  preparing  a  new  military 
organization. 

BERNARD.  Yes,  I  saw  that  in  the  papers;  they  are 
to  get  ready,  by  degrees,  for  a  new  butchery. 

JEAN.  It  looks  that  way  to  me.  Unhappily  it  is 
always  us,  the  people  of  the  country,  who  are  the 
fools  in  the  trick.  Always  we  pay  the  piper. 

BERNARD.  If  the  Germans  take  forty  years  again 
to  prepare  for  the  next  war,  we  shall  not  see  it. 

JEAN.     I  don't  want  to  see  it  again. 

BERNARD.     Neither  do  I.     We  have  all  seen  enough. 

JEAN.  My  faith!  How  we  got  out  alive  from  some 
of  those  furnaces,  only  the  devil  knows.  For 
example,  at  Healen,  you  remember  how  the 
hulans  ran  into  our  guns  and  batteries,  and  rolled 
pell  mell  in  the  ravine,  cavalrymen  and  horses  all 
in  the  same  porridge? 

BERNARD.  Heavens,  if  I  remember  it!  But  the 
greatest  day  of  butchery  was  at  the  battle  of 
Aerschot.  That  bayonet  charge!  My  friends,  I 
shall  always  see  it.  My  brother  had  just  fallen 
at  my  side,  struck  by  a  ball;  I  became  mad  with 
fury;  I  howled  that  I  would  have  the  skin  of  ten 
Teutons,  and  while  ripping  them  up  I  counted 
them.  [  He  gets  up  and  pretends  to  charge  with  the 
bayonet^  One  .  .  .  and  two  .  .  .  and  three 
.  .  .  and  four  .  .  .  and  five;  and  I  ran  them 
through,  sixteen,  one  after  another;  and  that  did 


MARTYR 

not  take  me  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
The  seventeenth,  seeing  me  come,  threw  himself 
on  his  knees,  let  fall  his  gun,  and  begged  for  mercy, 
crying:  "Ich  habe  sieben  Kinder;  Ich  habe  sieben 
Kinder."*  I  stopped,  sorry  for  his  seven  children; 
I  went  a  little  distance  off;  he  seized  his  gun, 
aimed  at  me,  and  was  just  going  to  fire,  when  he 
received  a  blow  on  his  head  which  stretched  him 
out  on  his  back  forever;  a  comrade  had  saved  my 
life.  Without  this  masterly  blow,  I  should  not 
be  here  to  drink  with  you,  my  friends.  Jacques 
is  blind,  but  I  have  avenged  him;  they  have  paid 
dearly  for  it,  the  bandits! 

JEAN.  Yes,  the  Prussians  will  remember  the  Bel- 
gians for  a  long  time.  You,  Bernard,  were  mighty 
lucky  never  to  get  a  scratch. 

BERNARD.  That's  true.  I  always  came  out  safe 
and  sound;  that  allowed  me  to  do  my  part  of  the 
work.  [  He  raises  his  glass.]  Come,  my  friends, 
let  us  drink  to  the  brave,  fallen  in  these  combats 
of  giants. 

ALL.     [Rising.]     Bravo,  Bernard!  bravo! 

[  They  empty  their  glasses,  and  sit  down  again.] 

JEAN.     Yonder,  see,  Jacques  is  going  to  church; 

the  poor  fellow  will  get  there  for  the  benediction! 

[  JACQUES  is  advancing,  groping  with  his  cane, 

toward  the  church;  JEAN  gets  up  and  leads 

him  to  the  table.] 

*"I  have  seven  children." 

[50] 


MARTYR 

JEAN.  Come,  Jacques,  drink  a  glass  of  beer  with 
your  friends. 

JACQUES.     [Recognizing  JEAN'S   voice.]    Oh,   Jean! 

It  is  you!    Thank  you,  my  friend,  thank  you. 

[  All  shake  JACQUES'S  band  heartily.] 

JEAN.     Then  you  were  going  to  mass,  Jacques? 

JACQUES.  Yes;  I  think  I  shall  be  late.  I  made  a 
mistake  and  lost  my  way.  I  have  been  at  least 
an  hour  on  the  road,  without  knowing  where 
I  was. 

BERNARD.     I  told  you  not  to  venture  so  far  alone. 

JACQUES.  That's  true;  but  I  love  to  go  to  mass  on 
Sunday.  As  I  can  no  more  see  the  light  of  day, 
I  am  preparing  myself  to  contemplate  the  divine 
light. 

JEAN.  My  dear  Jacques,  some  misfortune  will 
happen  to  you  one  of  these  days,  if  you  go  about 
the  roads  alone. 

JACQUES.  Ah!  my  friends,  what  greater  evil  can 
come  to  me  than  being  blind.  [  He  gets  up.]  I 
am  only  twenty-three,  and  I  am  condemned  to 
an  eternal  night;  ...  for  you,  the  glorious  sun 
rises  every  morning;  ...  for  me  it  is  night; 
...  for  you,  spring  returns  with  the  roses,  and 
you  see  the  flowers  in  the  meadows  bloom  again; 
...  for  me  it  is  night  .  .  .  always  night.  At 
the  close  of  the  day  you  walk  in  couples  along 
the  paths,  and  the  valleys  resound  with  your 
songs  of  love.  On  Sunday  evening,  when  music 
invites  the  sweethearts  to  dance  down  there  under 


MARTYR 

the  lindens,  I,  alone  in  my  little  room,  hear  their 
cries  of  joy,  which  stab  me  to  the  heart.  In  my 
solitude,  night  has  at  last  penetrated  even  my 
soul.  You,  my  friends,  who  contemplate  the 
beauties  of  nature,  you  cannot  understand  the 
intense  torture  of  this  night  without  end.  Your 
night,  when  it  descends  over  the  earth,  is  resplen- 
dent with  millions  of  stars,  all  scintillating,  all 
mysterious.  Your  night  is  full  of  beauty  .  .  . 
[  He  stretches  out  his  arms  before  him  into  space.] 
Alas!  .  .  .  Alas!  ...  in  mine,  there  is  never 
a  ray;  .  .  .  mine  is  ever  blackness,  night  with- 
out a  gleam  .  .  .  night  everlasting  .  .  .  night 
without  hope  .  .  .  torment  without  end! 

JEAN.  [  'Taking  JACQUES  by  his  arm.}  Come, 
Jacques;  come,  my  friend,  let  us  drink. 

JACQUES.  No,  no;  thanks,  Jean,  thanks;  I  am  not 
thirsty;  I  just  drank  at  the  f6untain  at  the  turn 
-of  the  road.  Beer  is  good  when  one  sees  it  run; 
for  me,  it  is  insipid.  But  thank  you  just  the 
same,  my  friend. 

[  He  goes  toward  the  church  entrance,  but  at 
this  moment  the  mass  is  ended,  and  the 
congregation  come  out.  He  turns,  groping 
his  way  with  his  stick;  he  leaves  the  stage.} 

JEAN.     Poor  friend! 

BERNARD.  There;  mass  is  finished.  I  will  lead 
Jacques  home.  Good-bye,  my  friends. 

JEAN.     Good-bye,  Bernard,  till  this  evening. 

BERNARD.  Yes,  come  to  see  me  this  evening;  I 
want  to  talk  with  you. 


MARTYR 

[  The  people  are  coming  out  of  the  church;  they 
stop  in  little  groups  on  the  market  place  to 
talk.     MARTHA  stops  with  some  friends  near 
the  door.     LOUISE  comes  out  slowly.     "The 
door  of  the  church  is  shut.     Just  as  LOUISE 
passes  byy  MARTHA  stops  her.} 
MARTHA.     [Mockingly.]     He!    Louise!    How    fine 
you  look  today. 

[  MARTHA'S  friends  giggle.} 
LOUISE.     [  'Timidly.]     Martha,  I  am  as  usual. 
MARTHA.     No,  no;  today  you  have  put  on  your  fine 
dress.     That  is  easily  understood;  when  we  go  to 
meet  a  lover  we  put  on  our  fine  dress! 
LOUISE.     I  wear  my  best  dress  to  go  to  mass  on 

Sunday. 
MARTHA.     [  Satirically.}     Indeed;  what  do  you  come 

to  mass  for? 

LOUISE.     Just  what  you  come  for,  Martha.  . 
MARTHA.     How;  you  dare  to  compare  yourself  to 

me! 

LOUISE.     I  do  not  understand  you,  Martha. 
MARTHA.     You  do  not  understand  me!    What  are 
you  doing  among  respectable  people? 

[  The  villagers  make  a  circle  around  the  two 

women.} 
LOUISE.     I    think    myself   as    respectable    as    you, 

Martha. 

MARTHA.     What  a  cheek!    Oh!  oh!  she  is  as  respect- 
able as  we  are! 

[  'The  villagers  seem  much  amused.} 

[53] 


MARTYR 

LOUISE.  Why  have  you  such  a  spite  against  me? 
I  have  never  done  you  the  least  harm. 

MARTHA.  No;  but  that  does  not  say  that  you  would 
not  do  much  better  to  stay  at  home,  than  to  come 
here  to  exhibit  yourself  at  church. 

LOUISE.  You  are  trying  to  pick  a  quarrel.  I  have 
never  harmed  you  or  anyone  else,  and  I  have  the 
same  right  to  come  to  church  as  others. 

MARTHA.  No,  you  have  not.  The  priest  should 
throw  you  out. 

LOUISE.  The  priest  orders  me  to  come.  Besides, 
what  is  it  to  you? 

MARTHA.  Ha !  nothing,  nothing  at  all !  [  Mock- 
ingly.] You  have  a  right  to  sell  yourself  to  whom- 
soever you  please;  even  to  the  Prussians,  as  you 
did  during  the  war. 

LOUISE.  You  know  very  well,  Martha,  that  I 
neither  sold  nor  gave  myself  to  anyone. 

MARTHA.  Yes,  yes;  we  are  agreed  on  this.  Every- 
one knows  that  your  house  is  the  only  one  in  the 
village  that  was  not  burned. 

LOUISE.  I  have  nothing  to  say.  Everyone  knows 
what  happened. 

MARTHA.     Yes,  but  nobody  likes  your  story. 
[  Some  women  make  signs  of  assent.} 

LOUISE.  Listen,  Martha,  I'll  tell  you  what  started 
all  this  fuss.  You  are  jealous  because  Bernard 
does  not  want  you. 

MARTHA.  [Piqued.]  Bernard!  ...  I  snap  my 
finger  at  Bernard,  the  great  blockhead;  you  can 

['54] 


MARTYR 


have  him.     He  will   play  father  to   your  little 
Prussian!     By  the  way,  what  have  you  done  with 
your  German  sprout? 
LOUISE.     That  is  my  affair. 

MARTHA.  You  think  so?  Very  well,  we  will 
denounce  you;  we  will  find  out  what  you  have 
done  with  it.  [  Approaching  LOUISE.]  Good-for- 
nothing  girl  .  .  .  creature  of  soldiers  .  .  .  you 
sold  yourself  to  the  Prussians  so  that  they  would 
spare  your  farm.  Now  you  have  done  away  with 
your  child;  but  we  will  find  it  again;  and  we  will 
also  stop  you  from  soiling  decent  people  here  at 
church. 

LOUISE.  I  will  not  answer,  my  girl;  I  scorn  your 
insults. 

[  She  tries  to  go,  but  MARTHA  bars  the  way.} 
MARTHA.  [  Going  close  to  LOUISE.]  Yes,  you  with 
your  sanctimonious  airs!  Nobody  is  your  dupe; 
everyone  knows  you.  [  Noticing  the  silver  cross 
which  LOUISE  wears  at  her  neck,  she  seizes  it,  and 
holds  it  a  moment  between  her  fingers.]  And  so, 
Miss  carries  a  cross  at  her  neck!  An  honest  girl 
like  you  has  no  need  of  that ! 

[  She  snatches  the  cross,  throws  it  on  the  ground, 

and  steps  on  it.} 
LOUISE.     [  Angrily.]     My  mother's  cross! 

[  She  thrusts  MARTHA  back  in  order  to  recover 
her  cross;  MARTHA  resists;  finally  LOUISE 
regains  the  cross.  MARTHA  and  her  friends 
threaten  LOUISE,  who  has  backed  up  to  the 

[55] 


MARTYR 

steps  of  the  church,     ^he  door  opens,  and 
the  PRIEST  appears  in  his  surplice.} 
THE  PRIEST.     Well,  well,  what  is  the  matter?     Why 

all  these  cries  and  all  this  noise  on  Sunday? 
MARTHA.     This  creature  has  insulted  us. 

[  She  points  to  LOUISE.] 

THE  PRIEST.     My  child,  what  has  happened? 
LOUISE.     Martha  waited  for  me  coming  out  from 
mass;  she  insulted  me,  snatched  my  mother's  cross 
from  me,  threw  it  on  the  ground,  and  stepped 
on  it. 

MARTHA.     We  do  not  want  this  harlot  in  our  church. 

THE  PRIEST.     Martha,  I  forbid  you  to  speak  thus. 

[  With  a  loud  voice,  and  raising  his  arms  as  if  to 

protect  LOUISE.]     Understand   well,   my   friends, 

that  Louise  is  as  pure  as  the  most  virtuous  among 

you.     Her  soul  is  as  virgin  as  that  of  an  angel. 

Do  not  you  judge  her;   the  Lord  alone  is   the 

supreme  judge.     [  ^To  LOUISE.]     Come,  my  child. 

[  He  leads  LOUISE  into  the  church;  MARTHA 

and  her  friends  slink  away;  the  villagers 

applaud  the  priest.} 


MARTYR 

Act  IV. 


MARTYR 

ACT  IV. 

[  Four  years  later.     The  stage  the  same  as  in  pre- 
ceding act,  showing  the  market-place.     VON  RAUCH, 
now  a  general,  is  sitting  with  two  officers  before  the 
tavern   at  the  table.     They  have  been  sent  by  their 
government  to  witness  the  annual  manoeuvres  of  the 
Belgian  army.     VON  RAUCH  and  VON   BLIESS  are 
seated  facing  the  audience ',  and  LIEUTENANT  ROSSAK 
at  the  side  of  the  table  in  such  a  way  that  he  sees  the 
stage.     A  large  scar  is  visible  on  VON  RAUCH' s  face.] 
VON  RAUCH.     Well,  gentlemen,  this  is  a  country 
through  which  I  passed  during  the  war.     After 
the  Belgian  manoeuvres,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
return  immediately,  so  I  wished  to  see  it  again 
while  we  had  leisure. 
VON  BLIESS.     A  fine  country,  indeed! 
VON  RAUCH.     Yes;    but    the    village    was    badly 
demolished  during  the  war. 

[59] 


MARTYR 

VON  BLIESS.     You  don't  see  much  of  that  now; 

these  good  people  have  almost  rebuilt  it. 
VON  RAUCH.     The    inhabitants    are    marvellously 

industrious.     That,  indeed,  is  the  real  wealth  of 

a  country. 
ROSSAK.     What  a  pity  that  we  were  not  able  to 

keep  it! 
VON  BLIESS.     Lieutenant,  in  twenty  or  thirty  years 

we  shall  come  again,  and  then  we  will  take  better 

precautions. 
VON  RAUCH.     Dear  Captain,  you  are  wrong;  what 

the  empire  could  not  do  in  1914,  neither  we,  nor 

our  children,  nor  our  grandchildren  shall  be  able 

to  do;  this  is  a  certainty. 
VON  BLIESS.     It  is  evident  that  we  shall  never  find 

our  neighbors  asleep  again  as  at  that  time. 
VON  RAUCH.     The  lesson  was  a  hard  one  for  us  as 

well  as  for  them.     Remember  that  in  times  to 

come,  the  allies  will  dispute  among  themselves; 

they  will  perhaps  fight,   but  when  it  comes   to 

keeping  the  empire  in  a  circle  of  iron,  they  will 

always  agree. 
ROSSAK.     Then  your  conclusion,  General,  is  that  we 

will  have  no  more  war? 
VON  RAUCH.     That  is  my  idea;  in  our  country  our 

armies  will  only  have  to  fight  the  enemy  within— 

socialism,  the  people,  the  working  classes;  as  for 

outside,  there  will  not  be  much  to  do  for  a  long 

time. 


60 


MARTYR 

ROSSAK.     Then,  General,  you  condemn  me  to  remain 

a  lieutenant  all  my  life? 
VON  RAUCH.     Not  exactly,  not  exactly;   but  you 

will  never  be  promoted  general  on  the  battle-field. 

Don't  count  on  it. 
ROSSAK.     Look,  there  is  a  blind  man  and  a  child 

walking  together.     This  man  is  quite  young. 

[  JACQUES  comes  on  the  stage,  holding  in  one 
hand  a  sticky  and  by  the  other  a  little  boy 
about  four  years  old;  they  walk  slowly.} 
VON  RAUCH,     This    man    probably   lost    his    sight 

during  the  war.     [  JACQUES  passes  near  the  three 

officers;  VON  RAUCH  calls  him.}     Eh!  my  friend; 

where  are  you  going? 

JACQUES.     [  Stopping.}     Sir,  are  you  calling  me? 
VON  RAUCH.     Yes,  my  friend,  you. 
JACQUES.     Well,  I  have  been  taking  a  walk  with 

my  little  friend.     Now  I  am  taking  him  to  his 

mother. 
VON  RAUCH.     [  70  ROSSAK.]     Lieutenant,  lead  this 

brave  fellow  here  to  the  table.     [  70  JACQUES.] 

Say,  my  friend,  will  you  have  a  drink? 

[  ROSSAK  seats  JACQUES  near  VON  RAUCH, 

who  takes  the  child  on  his  knees} 
JACQUES.     Certainly,    sir,    with    pleasure.     I    am 

thirsty;  it  has  been  very  hot  today. 
VON  RAUCH.     Here,    innkeeper,    give    our    friend 

something  to  drink. 
Rou LANDS.     Very  well,  sir.     Well,  Jacques,  what 

will  you  take? 

[61] 


MARTYR 

JACQUES.     Give  me  a  glass  of  beer. 

[  The  innkeeper  brings  the  beer.] 
VON  RAUCH.     So  you  were  walking  with  this  pretty 

little  blond  fellow? 

[  He  caresses  the  child.] 
JACQUES.     Yes,  sir;  the  child  has  only  a  mother, 

and  she  works  very  hard;  I  make  myself  useful, 

and  take  him  out  for  a  walk. 
VON  RAUCH.     [  Drawing  a  piece  of  money  from  his 

pocket  and  giving  it  to  the  child.]    Here,  my  little 

boy;  buy  some  bonbons. 
THE  CHILD.     Thank  you,  sir. 

[  He    throws    his    little    arms    around    VON 
RAUCH 's  neck.     The  General  continues  to 
caress  him  during  the  conversation.] 
JACQUES.     Yes,  sir,  Johnny  is  a  good  little  chap; 

but  the  village  children  will  not  play  with  him. 
VON  RAUCH.     Indeed;  and  why  not? 
JACQUES.    Ah,  it  is  quite  a  story,  and  not  a  very 

pleasant  one.     Let  us  not  speak  of  it. 
VON  RAUCH.    As  you  like,  my  friend.  .    .    .  And 

you,  are  you  entirely  blind? 
JACQUES.     Yes,  completely;  it  is  a  present  from  the 

Prussians. 

[  The  three  men  look  at  each  other  in  silence.] 
VON  RAUCH.     Do  you  not  believe,  my  friend,  that 

the  Germans  also  have  many  blind  and  crippled 

among  them? 
JACQUES.     Certainly,  I  believe  it;  it  would  be  sad 

if  they  had  not. 

[62] 


MARTYR 

VON  RAUCH.     Why? 

JACQUES.  Well,  because  it  is  they  who  started  the 
war.  They  who  fell  on  our  country,  and  ruined 
everything;  then,  when  we  were  righting  like  men, 
like  soldiers,  they  made  war  like  bandits,  like 
murderers.  Their  punishment  can  never  be  great 
enough. 

VON  RAUCH.     Were  you  born  in  this  country? 

JACQUES.  Yes,  sir;  my  parents  had  a  large  farm. 
Before  the  war,  we  were  all  living  happily;  when 
the  Germans  passed  through  here,  they  murdered 
my  parents,  my  two  sisters,  and  my  little  brother, 
a  child  of  twelve  years. 

VON  RAUCH.  Probably  someone  at  the  farm  shot 
at  the  troops  as  they  passed. 

JACQUES.  No,  no;  there  was  no  weapon  at  our 
house,  not  one.  Besides,  here  in  the  village  the 
Germans  committed  every  crime  imaginable  — 
murder,  fire,  assault!  Nothing  was  lacking. 

VON  RAUCH.  These  things  are  inevitable  during 
war. 

JACQUES.  That's  the  excuse  of  the  Germans;  but 
to  kill  children  and  violate  women  because  the 
sharpshooters  fell  upon  them  was  a  singular 
fashion  of  defending  themselves.  The  truth  is, 
they  thought  they  could  commit  these  crimes 
with  impunity;  they  were  crimes  doubled  by 
cowardice. 

VON  RAUCH.  My  friend,  these  cases  of  which  you 
speak  were  very  rare. 

[63] 


MARTYR 


JACQUES.  Very  rare!  ...  on  the  contrary,  very 
frequent.  We  have  thousands  of  German  children 
in  our  country;  hundreds  of  nuns  are  mothers 
today.  [  Feeling  the  arm  of  the  child,  and  pointing 
to  it.]  Here,  this  very  child  is  the  son  of  a  Prus- 
sian officer,  of  a  captain  of  the  German  army, 
who  outraged  a  young  girl  that  was  to  be  the  bride 
of  my  brother;  he  was  called  Von  Rauch. 

[  The  two  officers  look  at  VON  RAUCH  with 
surprise.] 

VON  RAUCH.  [  Not  at  all  disconcerted.]  Well,  well; 
and  are  there  any  proofs  against  that  Captain 
Von  Rauch. 

JACQUES.  I  don't  know,  sir;  it  is  a  story  that  is 
told  in  the  country. 

VON  RAUCH.  Do  you  know  the  people  who  spread 
this  story? 

JACQUES.  The  only  witness  was  Jean  Bruneels,  the 
brother  of  the  girl.  He  says  he  wounded  the 
scoundrel  in  the  face  with  his  bayonet  just  as  he 
was  escaping  from  the  house. 

[  The  two   officers  look  at  the  scar  on  VON 
RAUCH'S /<zr£.] 

VON  RAUCH.  [  Pointing  to  the  child  on  his  knees.] 
Then  this  child  would  be  the  son  of  Von  Rauch  ? 

JACQUES.     Yes,  sir;  without  any  doubt. 

VON  RAUCH.  Nevertheless,  if  this  Jean  Bruneels 
has  no  proof,  how  can  he  claim  that  this  child  is 
Von  Rauch's  son? 

JACQUES.     Bruneels  says  that  he  has  the  proofs. 


MARTYR 

VON  RAUCH.     Truly,  this  Bruneels  has  proofs? 
JACQUES.     So  it  seems,  sir. 

[Enter  LOUISE  from  the  rear.  VON  RAUCH, 
facing  the  audience -,  does  no  see  her;  neither 
does  she  recognize  him.}  ( 

LOUISE.  [  Stands  motionless  at  the  rear  of  the  stage 
for  a  few  moments,  contemplating  the  group.}  Well, 
well,  Jacques;  you  are  here  drinking  while  I  am 
looking  for  you  everywhere.  I  was  much  fright- 
ened. [  Calling  the  child.}  Come  on,  Johnny; 
come  quickly! 

[  The  child  jumps  from  VON  RAUCH'S  knees 
and  runs  to  his  mother,  who  embraces  him; 
the  three  men  are  silent} 
JACQUES.     [Getting   up.]     There,    there,    my   good 

Louise;  I  am  coming. 

LOUISE.     [  Advancing  toward  JACQUES.]     Come,  it  is 
already  late. 

[  Approaching  the  table,  she  recognizes  VON 
RAUCH,  cries  out,  and  rushes  away  with  the 
child} 
JACQUES.     Louise!      Louise!      What's   the  matter? 

What's  the  matter? 
VON  B  LI  ESS.     Your  friend  has  gone  with  the  child, 

but  we  will  take  you  as  far  as  the  road. 
JACQUES.     But   she   cried   out   .    .    .   someone   has 

harmed  her. 

VON  RAUCH.     No,  no,  my  good  fellow;  but  tell  me, 
who  is  this  woman? 


MARTYR 

JACQUES.  It  is  Louise  Bruneels;  it  is  she  of  whom 
I  was  just  speaking. 

VON  RAUCH.  Then  she  is  the  mother  of  the  little 
boy? 

JACQUES.  Yes,  sir;  it  is  she  .  .  .  but  where  has 
she  gone? 

VON  RAUCH.  She  has  probably  gone  home.  Gan 
you  take  me  to  these  people? 

JACQUES.     Certainly;  I  go  that  way  every  day. 

VON  RAUCH.  All  right;  let  us  go  together.  I  wish 
to  talk  to  them.  [  70  the  two  officers.]  Gentle- 
men, wait  here  for  me;  I  will  return  presently. 

[  VON    BLIESS    and    ROSSAK    salute.     VON 
RAUCH  and  JACQUES  leave  the  stage  \ 

ROSSAK.     Well,  what  do  you  say  about  that? 

VON  BLIESS.  Moses!  the  General  has  a  bad  piece 
of  business  on  his  hands. 

ROSSAK.  I  believe  so  too;  he  would  have  done 
better  never  to  have  risked  himself  here;  better, 
even,  never  to  have  come  to  Belgium. 

VON  BLIESS.  It  is  a  very  strange  psychological 
phenomenon  that  one  is  always  attracted  toward 
the  places  where  he  has  committed  any  notable 
action,  good  or  bad. 

ROSSAK.  That's  true;  and  the  general  has  been 
taken  in  like  many  others;  but  he  will  get  out  of 
it  with  money.  A  few  hundred  francs  will  settle 
it  all. 

VON  BLIESS.     I  wish  so,  for  his  sake. 

ROSSAK.      If    Madame    Von    Rauch    learns    this 

[66] 


MARTYR 

tomorrow  at  Brussels,  there  will  be  a  pretty 
scandal. 

VON  BLIESS.  It  would  make  a  fine  bit  of  gossip  for 
the  whole  world! 

ROSSAK.  O,  the  general  will  surely  find  a  way  to 
avoid  that. 

VON  BLIESS.  Yes,  I  think  so  too;  but  suppose  that 
these  good  people  are  not  willing  to  listen  to  any- 
thing, which  would  not  at  all  astonish  me;  then 
the  general's  situation  would  be  critical.  The 
woman  recognized  Von  Rauch  at  once;  the  blind 
man,  although  not  seeing  him,  knew  how  to  depict 
him  in  a  striking  manner;  everything  seems  to 
indicate  that  they  have  the  right  man. 

ROSSAK.  Without  any  doubt.  Do  you  believe  that 
he  can  be  arrested? 

VON  BLIESS.  Certainly,  it  is  a  crime;  and  although 
committed  in  a  time  of  war,  it  is  no  less  a  crime, 
and  punishable  no  matter  when  discovered. 

ROSSAK.     The  general  is  in  a  fine  mess. 

VON  BLIESS.  Yes,  ten  years  of  hard  labor  await 
our  dear  general  if  he  cannot  weather  the  storm. 

ROSSAK.  Ah,  you  understand,  it  is  all  right  to  have 
a  good  time  with  the  girls,  but  one  must  be  careful 
not  to  get  caught.  I  am  curious  to  know  how  the 
general  is  going  to  effect  his  retreat. 

VON  BLIESS.     I  am  afraid  it  will  be  hard. 

ROSSAK.  Since  we  are  to  witness  all  this  sordid 
affair,  and  since  they  will  want  to  hush  it  up,  we 
may  find  an  unexpected  promotion  immediately. 


MARTYR 

VON  BLIESS.  My  faith,  Rossak,  you  are  right! 
No  matter  how  it  turns,  we  cannot  lose;  I  hadn't 
thought  of  that. 

ROSSAK.     I  see  you  a  colonel  and  me  a  captain  in  a 

few  months.     It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody 

good!    Listen,  people  are  coming  down  the  road. 

[  VON   RAUCH,   the   SHERIFF,   JEAN,   and  a 

number   of  villagers   arrive   on   the   stage, 

talking  and  gesticulating^ 

JEAN.  [  To  VON  RAUCH.]  Ah!  ah!  my  fine  fellow; 
so  you  thought  that  with  a  little  gold  you  would 
get  out  of  this  affair? 

VON  RAUCH.  My  boy,  you  accuse  me  of  a  thing 
.of  which  you  have  absolutely  no  proof.  To  avoid 
scandal,  I  offer  you  five  thousand  francs;  you  did 
not  accept;  it  is  your  business;  you  shall  have 
nothing,  and  I  will  prefer  a  complaint  for  defa- 
mation of  character. 

JEAN.  All  right,  all  right;  we  know  that  you  Prus- 
sians do  not  want  cheek,  but  this  time  it  won't 
do  you  any  good. 

[  The  villagers  surround  VON  RAUCH,  JEAN 
and  the  SHERIFF.] 

VON  RAUCH.  [  To  the  SHERIFF.]  Then  you  want 
to  take  me  to  the  justice  court  of  Louvain  in 
order  to  file  a  complaint  against  me? 

THE  SHERIFF.     That's  where  we  are  going,  dear  sir. 

VON  RAUCH.  Do  you  not  know  that  I  am  sent  to 
your  country  as  the  representative  of  the  Em- 
peror? You  have  no  right  to  arrest  me. 

[681 


MARTYR 

THE  SHERIFF.  [  Mockingly.]  General,  you  might 
be  the  representative  of  ten  emperors,  and  you 
would  have  to  follow  me;  I  do  not  arrest  you,  I 
am  taking  you  to  the  district  attorney;  he  will 
know  what  to  do  with  you  better  than  I. 

VON  RAUCH.  You  will  surely  lose  your  position. 
Bruneels  is  mistaken;  he  has  not  the  shadow  of 
proof  for  what  he  claims. 

JEAN.  Look,  then,  my  friends,  at  the  fine  hole  in 
this  face.  [  He  points  to  VON  RAUCH'S  scar.] 
That  is  the  scar  of  which  I  have  so  often  spoken, 
and  he  pretends  that  I  have  no  proofs!  I  have 
others,  too,  in  reserve  —  something  carefully 
guarded. 

VON  RAUCH.     What  do  you  mean  ? 

JEAN.  Ah!  it  is  useless  to  talk  of  that  now;  it  will 
dumbfound  you. 

VON  RAUCH.  [  70  the  two  officers]  Gentlemen,  as 
I  told  you,  during  the  war  I  passed  through  this 
village.  One  evening,  I  asked  for  something  to 
eat  at  the  farmhouse  of  this  man.  His  sister 
seated  me  in  the  dining-room,  when  suddenly  he 
burst  in  like  a  madman.  I  had  to  escape  by  the 
window.  Once  outside,  he  rushed  upon  me  and 
gave  me  a  blow  in  the  face  with  his  bayonet; 
now  he  pretends  that  this  is  the  proof  that  I 
abused  his  sister.  These  are  the  facts.  As  you 
see,  it  is  an  accusation  as  ridiculous  as  it  is  insane. 

JEAN.  You  forgot  to  tell  that  I  had  to  break  in 
the  door  to  get  in  my  house;  you  forget  that  our 


MARTYR 

grandmother  was  lying  in  the  next  room  and 
heard  everything,  and  finally  that  the  child  was 
born  just  at  its  time. 

VON  RAUCH.     In  all  that  you  have  said  there  is  no 

proof.     Your  sister  had  a  sweetheart,  did  she  not  ? 

[  BERNARD,  forewarned  by  JACQUES,  has  come 

on  the  stage  unnoticed.     He  listens  to  the 

general's   words,   then   breaks   through  the 

crowd  and  throws  himself  upon  VON  RAUCH.] 

BERNARD.     [  Grasping  VON  RAUCH  by  his  shoulders 

and  raising  his  fist  threateningly.}     Wretch!  .    .    . 

Louise  was  my  sweetheart.     For  four  years  I  have 

begged   her   to   marry   me;   she   always   refused. 

You,  ruffian,  you  have  destroyed  not  only  her 

happiness  but  also  mine. 

[  VON  BLIESS  and  ROSSAK  come  to  the  help 
of  VON   RAUCH;  all  fists  are  raised;  the 
villagers  threaten  to  attack  the  three  Germans.} 
THE  SHERIFF.     [  In  a  thundering  voice  and  thrusting 
the  villagers  back,  he  protects  VON  RAUCH.]    Enough 
of  that!  enough  of  that!    All  these  explanations 
are    useless.     You,    Bruneels,    you    will    explain 
before  the  judge.     [  To  VON  RAUCH.]     You,  Gen- 
eral, I  order  you  to  follow  me.    Here  I  am  the 
law. 

[  The  SHERIFF  leaves  the  stage  with  JEAN  and 
VON  RAUCH,  followed  by  the  two  officers 
and  BERNARD.  The  villagers  watch  them 
go,  and  comment  on  the  incident^ 


[70] 


MARTYR 

Act  V. 


MARTYR 

ACTV. 

[  The  stage  shows  the  office  of  the  district  attorney, 

M.  LE  BRUN.     A  large  table  in  the  center.     Behind 

the  table  the  chairs  of  the  judge  and  his  secretary.     ¥0 

the  left  and  right,  several  chairs  for  the  witnesses. 

Some  doors  at  the  rear,  of  which  one  is  hung  with  a  red 

drapery.     At  the  rising  of  the  curtain,  JEAN,  BERNARD 

and  LOUISE  are  seated  awaiting  the  arrival  of  'the  judge '.] 

JEAN.     It  seems  that  Von  Rauch  continues  to  deny 

his  guilt.     All  the  newspapers  are  speaking  of  it 

today;  see,  here  is  quite  a  lot  of  it;  it  finishes  like 

this:      [  He    shows    the    newspaper,    and    reads.] 

"Madame  Von  Rauch,  wife  of  the  general,  not 

daring  to  show  herself  in  public  with  her  husband, 

set  out  this  morning  for  Berlin." 

BERNARD.     It  is  to  be  hoped  the  general  will  not 

try  to  take  this  road  also. 

[73] 


MARTYR 

JEAN.  He  would  if  they  gave  him  a  chance.  But 
you  may  be  sure,  he  is  well  guarded.  Besides, 
the  scar  I  gave  him  would  not  allow  him  to  escape. 

BERNARD.  True,  with  that  he  would  cross  the 
frontier  with  difficulty;  You  served  him  as  they 
did  the  criminals  in  the  middle  ages;  you  marked 
him  with  the  red  iron. 

JEAN.     Yes,  but  I  chose  the  face  instead  of  the  arm. 

BERNARD.    That  was  all  the  better. 

LOUISE.  Good  heavens,  how  I  wish  all  this  was 
over! 

JEAN.  You  ought  to  be  happy  that  this  savage  has 
fallen  into  our  hands  again. 

BERNARD.  Yes,  Louise;  when  this  scoundrel  is 
behind  bolts,  and  everyone  knows  that  you  were 
a  victim  and  not  at  fault,  there  will  no  longer  be 
any  excuse  for  our  not  marrying. 

LOUISE.  True;  but,  unfortunately,  the  child  will 
always  be  there.  What  is  going  to  become  of 
him? 

BERNARD.  Well,  we  will  make  an  honest  man  of 
him,  a  good  workman.  Morally,  a  child  is  not 
the  product  of  heredity,  but  of  the  environment 
in  which  he  is  raised. 

LOUISE.     Fortunately. 

[  The  JUDGE  enters,  accompanied  by  his 
SECRETARY;  be  goes  toward  the  three;  the 
SECRETARY  sits  down  at  the  table.} 

LE  BRUN.  Good  morning,  gentlemen;  good  morn- 
ing, Mile.  Bruneels.  [He  shakes  hands  with 

[74] 


MARTYR 

LOUISE.]     Well,  how  are  you  today? 
LOUISE.     Thank  you,  sir;  very  well. 
LE  BRUN.  [  To  JEAN.]     Now,  then,   M.  Bruneels; 

we  are  going  to  prove  the  innocence  of  your  sister. 
JEAN.     I  hope  so,  sir. 
LE  BRUN.     It   is   quite   certain;   Von   Rauch   can 

never  clear  himself  from  this  wretched  business. 

Anyway,  we  caught  this  one  all  right;  what  a 

pity  we  cannot  get  a  few  thousands  of  these  brutes ! 
BERNARD.  Will  he  be  sentenced,  your  Excellency? 
LE  BRUN.  He  will  get  at  least  five  years  at  hard 

labor. 
JEAN.     Your  laws  are  not  logical;  a  man  who  kills 

another  is  sentenced  to  death;  but  he  who  wrecks 

the  life  of  a  fellow  creature  merely  gets  five  years 

in  prison. 
LE  BRUN.     There  is  some  truth  in  your  remark; 

but  we  judges  do  not  make  the  laws,  we  simply 

apply  them. 
BERNARD.     You  agree,  then,  that  this  Von  Rauch 

deserves  hanging  rather  than  a  few  years  in  prison. 
LE  BRUN.  Under  the  circumstances  in  which  this 

crime  was  committed,  Von   Rauch  deserves  no 

pity;  but  law  is  law. 

JEAN.     I  hope  they  will  give  him  the  maximum. 
LE  BRUN.     [  Going  to  the  table.]     Have  no  fear;  he 

will  get  his  full  dose. 

[  Someone  knocks  on  the  door.] 
THE  SECRETARY.     Come  in! 

[  VON  RAUCH  and  his  lawyer  enter.] 

[75] 


MARTYR 

LE  BRUN.     [  Bowing.]     Gentlemen,  be  seated. 

[  They  seat  themselves  at  the  right  of  the  table.} 

LE  BRUN.  We  are  going  to  proceed  at  once  with 
the  testimony  of  the  witnesses.  Mr.  Secretary, 
you  will  take  it  down;  do  not  forget  that  this 
testimony  will  be  produced  at  the  trial.  [  He 
rises.]  General  Henry  Von  Rauch,  you  are 
accused  of  having  violated  Miss  Louise  Bruneels 
under  circumstances  related  in  the  preceding 
examination.  What  have  you  to  say  in  your 
defense  ? 

VON  RAUCH.  All  that  these  people  assert  is  a  plot 
of  lies;  they  wish  to  ruin  me. 

LE  BRUN.  General,  you  said  in  your  first  exami- 
nation that  Bruneels  and  his  sister  refused  your 
money.  It  is  then  a  nobler  impulse  that  prompts 
them  to  demand  justice. 

VON  RAUCH.  Jean  Bruneels,  in  not  producing  here 
any  tangible  proof,  has  done  me  a  great  wrong, 
for  which  I  demand  justice  in  my  turn. 

LE  BRUN.  [  With  sarcasm}  General,  I  promise 
you  that  if  Jean  Bruneels  does  not  bring  material 
proofs  of  your  guilt,  he  shall  be  severely  punished. 
[  To  JEAN.]  M.  Bruneels,  take  the  stand,  and 
repeat  your  accusation. 

JEAN.  [  Coming  forward  and  standing  by  the  table.} 
Yes,  Your  Excellency,  I  again  accuse  this  man 
[  he  points  to  VON  RAUCH  ]  of  having  abused  my 
sister  on  the  same  night  when  the  Prussians  set 
fire  to  Louvain. 

[76] 


MARTYR 

LE  BRUN.     On  what  do  you  base  your  accusation? 

JEAN.  Returning  to  my  house,  I  found  at  the  door 
of  my  dwelling  a  German  sentinel;  I  fired  at  him, 
and  the  man  escaped,  wounded. 

VON  RAUCH.  [  Interrupting.]  You  have  no  proof 
that  I  had  placed  a  sentinel  at  your  door. 

JEAN.  We  will  see  that  later.  When  I  wished  to 
enter,  the  door  was  locked  on  the  inside;  I  had  to 
break  it  in  with  the  butt  of  my  gun.  When  at 
last  the  door  yielded,  a  man  was  escaping  by  the 
window  and  jumped  out  on  the  road.  I  attacked 
him  and  wounded  him  in  the  face  with  my  bayonet. 
The  accusing  and  ineffaceable  mark  is  still  on  the 
face  of  this  man. 

VON  RAUCH.     What  a  medley  of  lies! 

LE  BRUN.  [  Making  a  sign  to  VON  RAUCH  to  be 
silent]  Very  well,  Jean  Bruneels;  sit  down. 
Louise  Bruneels,  come  forward!  [  LOUISE  ap- 
proaches slowly  with  drooping  head,  and  stands  near 
the  table^  Miss  Bruneels,  do  you  recognize  in 
General  Von  Rauch  the  man  who  did  the  crime? 

LOUISE.  [  Raising  her  hand  toward  heaven.]  I  swear 
that  it  is  he. 

LE  BRUN.     General,  what  do  you  answer? 

VON  RAUCH.  This  woman  is  mad.  She  accuses  me 
without  giving  any  proof.  These  people  are  all 
in  a  league  with  one  another. 

LE  BRUN.  General,  I  must  tell  you  that  the  pre- 
vious record  of  this  woman  is  perfect.  Her  con- 
duct before  and  after  the  crime  has  always  been 

[77] 


MARTYR 

exemplary;  she  would  not  accuse  you  if  she  was 
not  absolutely  certain. 

THE  LAWYER.  I  wish  to  remark  to  Your  Honor 
that  this  entire  accusation  rests  only  on  words. 

LE  BRUN.  I  beg  you,  sir,  to  be  patient;  we  will 
see  to  that  presently.  [  To  LOUISE.]  You  are 
then  certain  that  this  man  committed  the  assault? 

LOUISE.     Yes,  Your  Honor,  I  am  certain. 

LE  BRUN.  You  have  nothing  more  positive  on 
which  to  rest  your  accusation? 

LOUISE.  I  have  no  material  proof.  My  grand- 
mother heard  a  man  in  the  house;  she  heard  my 
cries;  but  as  she  is  paralyzed,  she  could  not  get  up, 
so  there  were  no  witnesses. 

[  JEAN  goes  to  the  door  with  the  red  curtain, 
throws  it  on  one  side,  and  shows  the  old 
door  of  the  farmhouse  on  which  is  still  seen 
the  German  inscription  written  by  VON 
RAUCH.] 

JEAN.  One  moment!  one  moment!  [He  unwraps 
the  door.]  And  this  —  is  this  no  witness  ? 

VON  RAUCH.  [  Visibly  excited.]  What  do  you 
mean? 

JEAN.  Is  this  not  the  door  that  I  broke  in,  in  order 
to  get  into  my  house?  Is  not  this  your  writing 
and  your  signature? 

VON  RAUCH.  Certainly;  but  that  simply  proves 
that  instead  of  doing  you  a  wrong,  I  rendered  you 
a  service;  that,  thanks  to  me,  your  house  was 
spared;  that,  in  return  for  a  meal  and  a  bottle  of 

[78] 


MARTYR 

wine,  I  kept  anyone  from  burning  your  dwelling. 
LOUISE.     This  man  never  had  a  meal  at  our  house. 
The  wine  that  he  drank  was  intended  for  our  sick 
grandmother;  he  stole  it. 

JEAN.  The  reason  why  he  wrote  this  [pointing  to 
the  door]  is  very  apparent.  He  feared  that  he 
would  be  disturbed  in  his  intentions.  He  prob- 
ably planned  to  return  often. 

THE  LAWYER.     All  these  things  are  pure  inventions, 
or    simply    mere    suppositions.     You    have    still 
brought   nothing   against   my   client,    absolutely 
nothing.     As  I  do  not  wish  to  expose  him  any 
longer  to  your  sarcasm,  we  will  await  the  trial. 
[  He  rises,  and  VON  RAUCH  does  the  same.] 
LE  BRUN.     [  Stopping  them.]     Just  a  moment,  gen- 
tlemen; just  a  moment.     You  have  not  seen  all 
the    witnesses.     [  With    a    loud    voice    he    calls.} 
Josef  Schmidt,  orderly  of  Captain  Von  Rauch! 
[  ^he  door  with  the  inscription   opens,  and 
SCHMIDT    appears    in    military    costume, 
carrying  his  gun  as  during  the  war  of  1914. 
He  closes  the  door  behind  him,  and  remains 
standing  before  it.] 
VON  RAUCH.     [  Springing  to  bis  feet,  deadly  pale.} 

Mein  Gott!    Schmidt! 

LE  BRUN.     Yes,    Schmidt;   it   is   indeed   he  ... 
Josef  Schmidt,  what  have  you  to  say? 

[  Before  SCHMIDT  can  answer,  VON  RAUCH 
takes  a  few  steps  toward  the  middle  of  the 
stage,  draws  a  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and 

[79] 


MARTYR 

shoots  himself.  His  lawyer  rushes  to  him, 
but  he  is  too  late.  He  staggers  and  falls  in 
the  center  of  the  stage;  he  struggles  some 
moments  in  agony,  and  then  remains  still. 
His  lawyer  makes  a  sign  that  the  general 
is  dead.} 

LE  BRUN.  My  friends,  this  man  did  justice  him- 
self. It  was  the  best  he  could  do;  respect  and 
repose  to  the  dead!  Bernard  Valkiers,  divine 
justice  returns  you  your  bride;  her  sublime  soul 
has  remained  pure  notwithstanding  these  terrible 
trials.  [  He  takes  the  hand  of  LOUISE  and  places 
it  in  that  of  BERNARD.]  Mile.  Bruneels,  now  you 
may  marry.  May  the  Lord  bless  and  protect  you ! 
LOUISE.  [  Withdrawing  her  hand  slowly.}  No,  no; 
the  child  is  still  there.  It  is  impossible!  It  is 
impossible! 

[  CURTAIN  ] 


[so] 


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FE&26  1935 


YC 


3G0647 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


